


Brought Back to the Surface

by superhoney



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Case Fic, Creature Castiel, Dean doesn't go to hell, Episode: s03e03 Bad Day at Black Rock, First Kiss, Fluffy Ending, Friends to Lovers, Kidnapping, M/M, Post-Season/Series 02, Sam's Lost Shoe - Freeform, Supernatural Reverse Big Bang Challenge 2017, Texting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-20
Updated: 2017-11-20
Packaged: 2019-02-04 10:23:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 22,648
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12769032
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/superhoney/pseuds/superhoney
Summary: Two years after Sam lost a shoe in Black Rock, he and Dean are back in town on what's meant to be a routine vampire hunt. They've just finished cleaning up when a voice interrupts them and offers Sam back the shoe in question, and that's how they meet Castiel: eccentric loner, collector of lost objects, and oh, shapeshifter. He's polite, charming, and he makes Dean reconsider everything he's ever thought about monsters and what to do with them.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is my entry for the SPN Reversebang Challenge 2017! It was my first time participating and it's been a really fun experience.
> 
> Thank you to my artist, diminuel, for creating such an incredible prompt piece! I knew I wanted to write for it the second I saw it. It has been a great pleasure working with someone so talented and enthusiastic. You can find the full art post [here](http://diminuel.tumblr.com/post/167701254965/art-masterpost-for-the-spn-reverse-bang-2017)
> 
> Thank you to Diamond for encouraging me to sign up and holding my virtual hand the whole way through, and to Anna for beta-reading and cheerleading. 
> 
> And thank you to mods for putting this whole thing together and making it easy even for a newbie like me.
> 
> In terms of meddling with canon, here's what you need to know: Jake Talley never killed Sam at the end of S2 so Dean never had to make a deal to bring him back, so Dean never went to Hell. They killed Yellow Eyes and have been hunting for a few years since. Bad Day At Black Rock happened mostly like it did in canon, but as a straightforward case in the aftermath of the S2 finale.

“Behind you!” 

Sam’s shout is loud enough to carry across the dimly lit warehouse and Dean whirls, his machete slicing through the air and into another vampire’s neck. His chest heaves with exertion as he attempts a quick count. He took out two, Sam’s in the process of beheading a third, but their scouting led them to believe there were five in this nest, which means there are two more out there somewhere.

“Come on, you ugly suckers!” he yells. “Let’s finish this.”

“So much for the element of surprise,” Sam mutters as they gather close in the centre of the room, eyes scanning for movement. 

“Pretty sure they heard the commotion already,” Dean shoots back. “I just wanna get this over with, alright?”

Sam scoffs, but before he can reply, the last two vampires drop from the rafters above them, fangs bared, and it’s a blur of snarls and swipes and spraying blood until Sam and Dean are the only ones still standing. 

Grimacing, Sam sweeps his hair away from his forehead. “Let’s get this cleaned up.”

“And then get out of here.”

They get rid of the bodies with the ease of long practice and turn on the sprinklers to wash away some of the blood. Once Dean’s satisfied that any traces of their presence have been scrubbed away, they sneak out the side entrance and head towards the lot where they parked the Impala.

“Of course it’s raining,” Dean mutters, looking up at the sky with a scowl. 

“God, you’re cranky,” Sam says. “What, chopping a few vamps’ heads off didn’t put you in a sunny mood?”

“Nothing sunny here. I hate this town. Let’s get back to the motel and crash for a few hours, then be up and out as early as we can.”

Dean knows he’s being a bit dramatic but can’t bring himself to care. Vampire hunts are always a pain in the ass and this one was no exception. But they handled it, like they always do, and now they can get the hell out of Black Rock, which isn’t exactly high on Dean’s list of places he would have picked to come back to on another job.

“Excuse me, but I believe this belongs to you.”

Both brothers raise their weapons on instinct, but there’s no one in sight. The industrial park is quiet but well-lit, providing good visibility even in the rain.

“What the fuck,” Dean whispers, looking around for the source of the voice.

A little cough forces his gaze downwards and he stumbles back a step, looking down at one of the strangest sights he’s ever seen. Which, considering their line of work, is saying a lot.

There’s a man resting casually against the drain pipe they’re standing over. His dark hair is plastered to his face from the rain, and his expression is open, even friendly.

And he’s holding a shoe.

“What the fuck,” Dean repeats. He raises his machete, prepared to attack, but Sam holds him back.

“Is that--” he stretches out one hand, his eyes wide. “Is that my shoe?”

The stranger smiles, clearly pleased with Sam’s powers of observation. “Yes,” he says. “I believe it is. I’m sorry, I know it’s been some time since you lost it. But I thought you should have it back regardless.”

“You found it? And you kept it all this time?”

“Yes,” the man answers. “But now that you’re back, it should be with you.”

Sam reaches out to take the shoe, and Dean snaps back to reality, swatting Sam’s hand away and ignoring his yelp of protest.

“Okay, no. We do not take shoes from strangers practically crawling out of sewers, Sam. Yours or not.” He turns to glare at the stranger, who doesn’t seem at all perturbed by his tirade. “Who the hell are you, anyway?”

“My name is Castiel,” he says. “You’re Dean Winchester, and that’s Sam.” He smiles again, and Dean tries not to notice the way it lights up his entire face. “Now that we’re no longer strangers, here.” He offers the shoe to Sam once more, who accepts it before Dean can intervene.

“Okay, Castiel,” Dean continues, still holding tight to his machete, “how do you know who we are?”

Castiel tilts his head to the side, considering. “It’s a long story,” he says. “Perhaps this is not the best place to tell it.”

“What, like we’re gonna bring you back to our motel?” Dean scoffs. “Or head down to the local dive and chat over beers? Buddy, I don’t know who you are, or even _what_ you are, but I know a trap when I see one.”

“I have no ill-will towards you, and no desire to do you harm,” Castiel says, the smile slipping from his face. “I merely wished to return Sam’s shoe. I see now that this may have been a mistake, approaching you directly.”

He turns to Sam, who’s still examining the shoe with a look of wonder on his face. “I hope it serves you well,” he says.

He glances back at Dean one last time, eyes vividly blue against the dark tendrils of hair plastered to his forehead, and then slips away through the grate and into the sewer.

“Damn it,” Dean swears. He really doesn’t feel like a trip through the pipes just to track this guy down, not after the night they’ve had. 

“Just leave it,” Sam advises. “He was weird, but I don’t think he was a threat.”

“He knew our names, Sam,” Dean replies tersely. “Our real names. How the hell did he know our real names? Did you have it written in your shoe like a kid at summer camp or what?”

“No. Come on, we can talk about this back at the motel. The longer we stand here, the more likely we are to get caught.”

Sam takes off in the direction of the car. Dean stays where he is, looking back at the sewer, and then follows after his brother. He hates to admit it, but Sam is right. They’ve already stuck around far longer than they should.

“So that was weird, right?” he asks as soon as they’re safely back in their crappy motel room. They drove in silence, Dean busy trying to figure out what just happened while Sam continued to stare at the shoe like it held the answers to all the mysteries of the universe.

“Weird is kind of our thing,” Sam points out. “And for once, this might have been good weird, you know?”

“Do you even still have the other one of those?” Dean gestures at the shoe. “It’s been, what, two years since you lost it?”

It’s far from the most pressing question, but this whole situation is so strange Dean figures they might as well start somewhere.

“No,” Sam answers. “But it’s weird, isn’t it? I lose a shoe. Two years later, I get it back. That means this Castiel guy probably had it all this time. And how did he know it belonged to me?”

“Finally asking the important questions,” Dean mutters, opening the mini-fridge and grabbing a beer for each of them. “He knew it was yours, he knew our names, _and_ he somehow knew we were back in town. What is he, some kind of psychic?”

“We could just ask him,” Sam suggests, taking a long swallow of his beer. 

“Sure, ask the maybe-psychic who spends his time crawling around in sewers picking up shoes and god knows what else.” 

“Why not? We’ve wrapped up this case. We’ve got nothing else on the agenda but a long drive back to Nebraska or South Dakota. I think we should stay and check this out.”

Sam has a point. Their cases have been spread pretty thin lately, which Dean would normally consider a good thing. It means they’re doing their job well, them and the other hunters operating out of Harvelle’s Roadhouse. Ellen runs a tight ship, and if something else happens to come up, there will be plenty of other experienced hunters to handle it.

“Fine,” he sighs. “But let me get my four hours first, alright? I’m not ready to go spelunking quite yet.”

“Fair enough. We’re gonna want to go under cover of darkness, though, so set your alarm early.”

“Great,” Dean mutters, draining the last of his beer. “God, I hate this town.”

***

They’ve been winding their way through the extensive system of underground tunnels for over an hour, and still haven’t seen any sign of Castiel. Dean’s about ready to call it quits when his flashlight sweeps over something other than wet stone and shallow puddles.

“Hey,” he hisses. “Over here.”

A smaller passage branches off from the main tunnel, and the flashlight’s beam reflects in tiny pieces of glass embedded in the rock around its entrance. “Some sort of marker,” Sam whispers. “I think we’re going the right way.”

Though this tunnel is slightly more cramped, it’s much drier, and it smells almost pleasant, like citrus and...vanilla? Dean sniffs the air again. Definitely vanilla. “Do you smell that?” he asks. “Does this lead to a Yankee Candle factory or what?”

Sam raises his hand to his lips and points ahead of him. There’s a light in the distance. They both immediately extinguish their flashlights and creep forward as quietly as possible. 

The scent is growing stronger as they approach the light, and Dean is really starting to wonder what they’ve stumbled into this time when the passage comes to an end, opening into a large, high-ceilinged chamber, filled entirely with what he can only describe as junk.

There are books, articles of clothing, electronics, even small pieces of furniture, all in towering piles. “Guess we know where your shoe’s been hanging out for the past two years,” he jokes.

“This is incredible,” Sam says, looking around with wide eyes. “Did all this stuff get lost down drains?”

“Not all of it.”

Dean startles at the sound of Castiel’s voice. Christ, this guy is sneaky. He seems to have appeared out of thin air, standing on the other side of the room, watching them with a perplexed look on his face.

“How did you find me?” he asks.

“Followed the trail,” Dean says with a shrug. “Those little shiny pieces.”

“I never thought anyone would notice...but then again, you are hunters. Your eyes are keener than most.” Castiel spreads his hands wide. “And now that you’ve found me, what is it you’re planning to do to me?”

“I’ve got a few ideas,” Dean starts, but he’s silenced by Sam’s glare.

“We just want to talk,” Sam says, holding up his hands to show he’s unarmed. “We have questions.”

Castiel considers this for a moment, his eyes flicking between the two of them. “Not until Dean hands over his weapons.”

“What? I don’t have any.” It’s a total lie, of course, but no way is Dean going to give up his knives, not when they still don’t know what they’re dealing with here.

“You have a small knife inside your boot,” Castiel says calmly. “And another in your inside jacket pocket.”

“How do you know that!” Dean exclaims.

“Simple logic. Hunters would never come unarmed. If you truly wish to talk, I promise you will come to no harm. But you must assure me of the same.” Castiel’s gaze is steady, and Dean wilts under it. 

Muttering to himself, he removes his knives and places them in the corner Castiel indicates. “Happy now?”

“Satisfied, at least.” Castiel nods and beckons them towards another passage on the far side of the room. “This way, please.”

They follow him through a series of tunnels, making enough turns that Dean loses track of where they’ve come from. He guesses that’s exactly Castiel’s intent, and can’t help admiring him for it. 

After about ten minutes, they begin to climb upwards, and soon emerge from a small culvert that drains into a ditch along a quiet road. There’s only one small house visible in the darkness, a light shining on its porch.

“My home,” Castiel says briefly. 

“You have a home?” Dean asks.

Castiel turns to look at him, perplexed. “Of course I have a home. What, did you think I lived in the sewers?”

It sounds ridiculous now that he says it, and Dean feels himself flush. “Don’t know what to think,” he mutters.

“I’ll explain once we’re inside,” Castiel says. “Come along.”

The house is small but well-maintained, and though it’s also filled with trinkets and objects, it’s far more organized than the underground chamber they just came from. Sam is looking around with interest, reading the spines of the books on the built-in bookshelves and poking curiously at the small marble figurine on one of the side tables.

“Would you like coffee? Tea? I have several different varieties, caffeinated and non-caffeinated,” Castiel offers.

“What I’d like,” Dean says tightly, “is to know what’s going on.”

For the first time, Castiel’s composure cracks, a look of displeasure crossing his features. “Very well,” he says stiffly. “Have a seat.”

Oh, great. Now Dean feels like a dick for declining the offer of a drink. He wants to apologize, but he senses there’s no point now. So he just sits meekly in the chair Castiel indicated and tries to look contrite.

Sam takes the seat beside him, and Castiel sits across from them, hands folded neatly on his lap. “What is it you wish to know?”

Dean figures it’s best he keeps quiet for awhile, so he lets Sam start.

“You knew it was my shoe,” Sam says. “How?”

“It’s an ability I have, to read an object’s history when I come into contact with it,” Castiel answers calmly. “I get...visions, I suppose you’d call them, of where the object has been, who has owned it, little flashes of its existence. Never complete, but in this case, enough to see you, and your brother.”

“And to know our names?” 

“Yes. I understand why that might be alarming, especially for hunters, who rely on a certain anonymity to go about their business.”

“How do you know about hunters?” Dean does his best to keep his voice from becoming too accusatory, not wanting to offend Castiel again. After all, they are in his house, defenseless. It’s probably not a good idea to provoke him. “Just from what you saw of us?”

There’s a slight pause before Castiel continues. “No,” he admits, shaking his head. “No, I knew about hunters long before I found Sam’s shoe.” He looks up and meets Dean’s gaze steadily. “I’m a shapeshifter.”

Dean is on his feet in an instant, reaching for a weapon that isn’t there. Sam is only seconds behind him, but he’s throwing an arm around Dean’s shoulder, ready to hold him back.

Castiel’s expression is tinged with weary sadness. “I knew that would be your reaction,” he murmurs. “You understand now why I had to insist on you leaving your weapons behind.”

It’s the defeated look on his face that calms Dean down, allowing Sam to gently push him back into his chair. Castiel looks so resigned to their reactions, and yet he told them truth anyway. It’s a great deal of trust he’s placing in them, and Dean is humbled by it. 

“I think you’d better start at the beginning,” Dean says slowly. 

A ghost of a smile flickers over Castiel’s features. “The beginning,” he repeats. “Well. I was born into a family of shifters. Both parents, and numerous older siblings. I was quite young when my parents were killed by hunters.”

“I’m sorry,” Sam says, stricken. “I never really thought about--”

“About monsters having families?” Castiel finishes. “I know. I was too young to remember them, but my siblings always taught me to fear hunters, to be aware of them, never to let them catch me.”

“And yet you just invited us into your home,” Dean points out. He doesn’t know what to make of this story, doesn’t know why he feels so bad for an admitted monster. 

“Yes, well, I eventually learned not to trust my siblings’ advice,” Castiel says bitterly. “We grew up in the city, using our powers to lie and cheat and steal and make a life for ourselves. It was all I’d ever known. But some of my brothers began to grow greedy, to want more. And began to care less about who got hurt along the way.”

Sam nods understandingly. “And you didn’t agree.”

“It was more than that.” Castiel sighs. “In addition to my strange ability to connect with objects, I’m also a particularly gifted shifter. Unlike my siblings, I can transform without needing to shed my previous skin, making it far easier to pass unnoticed.”

“They wanted you to do the dirty work,” Dean says. 

“Exactly. I refused, and I left. I haven’t spoken to them in years.”

“That sounds lonely,” Dean offers, sneaking a glance at Sam, who’s watching Castiel with a look of sympathy in his eyes. 

“It is,” Castiel shrugs, “but I refuse to use my powers for personal gain, especially at the expense of others.”

“That’s pretty noble of you,” Dean says. He still isn’t entirely convinced Castiel is telling them the truth, a lifetime of suspicion being pretty tough to overcome, but if he is…

Well, if he is, Dean owes him one hell of an apology.

“Thank you, Dean,” Castiel says gravely. 

There’s an awkward silence that follows, none of them sure what to do now that the air has been cleared between them. 

“Hey, uh, Cas-- can I call you Cas?” Dean says, just to break the silence. “I’d love that coffee now, if you don’t mind.”

A slow smile spreads across Castiel’s face, and Dean’s breath catches in his throat at the sight. He really shouldn’t be thinking about how good-looking this guy is, especially not after what they’ve just learned, but it’s damn hard to ignore.

“Of course,” Castiel says. “And Cas is fine. Coffee, Sam?”

“Coffee would be great, thanks,” Sam answers easily. 

After Castiel has disappeared into the kitchen, the brothers lean in towards each other, voices lowered so they won’t be overheard.

“You believe him?” Dean asks immediately.

“I can’t think of a reason he’d lie,” Sam replies. “Especially not to _hunters_.”

Dean doesn’t have a good explanation for it either. Which means Castiel is probably telling them the truth.

“So what do we do?”

“Nothing?” Sam suggests. “He isn’t hurting anyone, so it’s not a case. We just...go on with our lives, I guess.”

“I guess,” Dean repeats. 

Somehow, it doesn’t seem like enough. Sure, they’ve encountered friendly monsters before, but there’s something different about Castiel, something Dean can’t quite put his finger on. Something that makes him want to know more.

They don’t have time to discuss it further, because Castiel re-enters the room carrying a tray with three mugs of coffee and a plate of assorted cookies. 

“This looks awesome,” Dean says. “Thanks, man.”

“You’re welcome.” Castiel sounds almost shy. “I don’t often get the opportunity to entertain guests. Never, in fact.”

Dean pauses with his mug halfway to his lips. No wonder Castiel was so hurt when he refused his hospitality at first. Smooth, he tells himself angrily. Really smooth, Dean.

“Never?” Sam asks, taking a sip of his coffee.

Castiel shrugs. “I told you I no longer speak to my family.”

“Friends, dates?” Dean asks, curious despite himself. What would life be like for a monster who refuses that side of their nature?

“How can I truly form a relationship with someone when I have to constantly lie to them?” Castiel’s tone is light, but there’s a wry twist to his mouth that speaks of deep-seated pain. “Oh, I chat with the mailman and the cashier at the grocery store, but eventually, people want to know things about you. Your family, your childhood, what you do all day… and I can’t tell them the truth. I don’t want to have to lie, so I avoid those situations altogether.”

Despite himself, Dean chuckles. Castiel frowns at him over his cup of coffee. “I fail to see how that’s amusing,” he says stiffly.

“No, I’m sorry,” Dean says. “It’s just, that all sounds awfully familiar.”

“Never thought we’d have so much in common,” Sam laughs.

Understanding dawns on Castiel’s face. “Of course, it can’t be easy keeping the truth about what you do secret from others, either,” he says with a nod. 

“Exactly.” Dean raises his mug in a toast. “Cheers.”

“Cheers,” the others echo. 

“I gotta ask,” Sam says after a few minutes. “What’s with all the stuff? Here, and back down in the sewers.”

“Ah.” Castiel fidgets for a minute. “Well, you see, we used the underground network in New York extensively. Subways, sewers, maintenance tunnels. I’m accustomed to being underground. And after I discovered my strange affinity for lost objects, I became rather obsessed with them. Finding them, storing them, learning their secrets. They keep me company, in their strange way.”

Dean’s throat feels suspiciously tight. He looks over at Sam and sees the sadness on his face as well. “So how do you decide what stays down there and what makes it into the house?” he asks gently.

“Sometimes it’s a thing that can be useful, like that lamp beside you,” Castiel says, pointing to an antique brass lamp on the side table between Sam and Dean’s chairs. “Sometimes it’s merely something I find pretty, or something that has a particularly interesting history. I store objects down in the tunnels until I’ve catalogued them, and then bring them some of them up here.”

“Have you ever returned something to its owner before?” Sam asks with a smile.

Castiel laughs. “Only a few times,” he admits. 

“Hey, I’m still a bit confused as to how you knew we were back in town anyway,” Sam continues. “I get how you knew who we were, but then what?”

“Nothing quite as extraordinary as sensing your history, I assure you,” Castiel replies. “I saw your car parked in front of the police station while shopping earlier today. I recognized it from the visions.”

“Good man,” Dean says appreciatively. “Recognizing my baby for the treasure she is.”

Sam rolls his eyes, but Castiel smiles. “Your car is lovely,” he assures Dean. “I followed it to the warehouse, but waited until after the vampires were taken care of to approach you. I had no wish to be caught in the middle of that.”

“Smart,” Sam laughs. “Hey, can I use your bathroom?”

“Of course,” Castiel says. “First door on the left. 

After Sam has left the room, Dean clears his throat. “I, uh, wanted to apologize,” he says quietly. “For being so suspicious of you.”

“I appreciate that, Dean, but it’s alright. I should have expected you to be defensive. It’s only how you were raised, after all.” 

“Well, yeah, sure, but you’ve just been telling us all about how hard you work to not act the way you were raised,” Dean points out. “Maybe it’s about time I try to do the same.”

“Not everyone is like me,” Castiel says somberly. “There are still many monsters who let their nature dictate their actions, Dean. Like the nest of vampires you and Sam took care of.”

“I know. But maybe not all of them are like that. You’re living proof of that.”

It’s hard to tell, but Dean thinks there might be a faint blush on Castiel’s cheeks. He feels an answering heat rising in his own face and coughs awkwardly, but before he can say anything else, Sam returns.

“We should probably get going,” he says.

Whatever that strange moment was between Dean and Castiel is broken, and he looks away. “Yeah,” he says. “Guess so.”

Castiel rises to his feet and escorts them to the door. “Shall I show you back to where you left your weapons?” he offers.

Dean thinks about it for a moment, then shakes his head. “Nah,” he says. “You can keep them.”

The way Castiel’s face lights up is completely worth the loss of his trusty knives. “Thank you, Dean,” he says. “That’s very kind of you.”

“Hey, you brought Sam’s shoe back to him,” Dean says with a wink. “Only fair we leave you something in return.”

“Indeed.” Castiel looks down, the dark sweep of his eyelashes casting shadows over his cheeks. “Well, I suppose this is goodbye.”

“Bye, Castiel,” Sam says with a grin, offering his hand for Castiel to shake. “Thanks for finding my shoe.”

Castiel takes it with a smile. “Goodbye, Sam. I’m glad I was able to return it to you.”

Sam steps off the porch and heads towards the road, but Dean lingers a moment longer. On an impulse, he pulls one of his fake business cards out of his pocket and scribbles his real number on the back. “Take this, too,” he says, passing it to Castiel. “I know...I know what it’s like to be lonely, okay? So if you want to text me sometime, or whatever, that’d be cool.”

“Oh.” Castiel takes the card and slips it into his pocket, a shy smile on his lips. “I...thank you, Dean.”

“Come on, man,” Sam calls from the front of the house.

“I should…” Dean jams his hands in his pockets.

“Yes.” Castiel bites his lip, eyes wide. “Goodbye, Dean.”

“Bye, Cas.” There’s so much more Dean wants to say, but he just nods once and turns away. 

Despite every instinct, he doesn’t look back.


	2. Chapter 2

It’s a long drive back to Nebraska from Buffalo, Sam and Dean taking turns behind the wheel as the miles tick down and the road stretches on and on before them. They’re not exactly in a rush, but there’s an unspoken agreement between them to get back within a reasonable amount of time. As much as they’re accustomed to life on the road, having a home base (or two, in their case) is a luxury they’re starting to enjoy.

It’s not until they’ve crossed the Nebraska state line, only a few hours left in their trip, that Sam brings it up. “So what are we going to tell Ellen and the others?”

Dean glances over at him, puzzled. “About the case? Not much to tell. We handled it, shouldn’t be an issue again.”

“Not about the vamps. About Castiel.”

“What do you mean?”

Sam raises a pointed eyebrow. “Dean, you know not every hunter who passes through the Roadhouse is going to be as understanding as we were. If somebody hears about a shifter in Black Rock, there’s a good chance they’re not going to take the time for a cup of coffee and a chat with him. They’re going to go in armed to the teeth with silver and consider it a job well done.”

“Shit,” Dean mutters under his breath. Sam’s right. Hell, Dean was barely willing to give the guy a chance to explain himself. Some of the other hunters would be even worse. 

“So we don’t mention it,” he says after a long pause. “Don’t mention him. Nobody has to know.”

“Not even Ellen?”

An even tougher question. Dean’s gotten used to keeping Ellen informed of pretty much everything: where they’re going, where they’ve been, any random pieces of information they come across on their travels. He doesn’t really like the idea of keeping secrets from her, but if it’s to keep Cas safe, he knows it’s the right decision.

“Not even Ellen,” he says. “It’s not that I don’t trust her, Sam, but if someone overheard us, or she slipped up and mentioned it once…”

“Yeah,” Sam says with a nod. “I don’t like it either, but you’re right.”

“So that means you can’t tell anyone you got your shoe back,” Dean teases. “I know they would all be delighted to hear the thrilling conclusion to your epic tale of woe, but that’s just too bad.”

“Shut up,” Sam mutters. “That was years ago, I doubt anyone remembers.”

“Who could forget you sitting in the back booth of the Roadhouse, inviting the entire place to come hear the story of how you lost your shoe?” 

Dean grins at the memory. They’d both had a bit too much to drink that night, celebrating another case closed, and Sam had gotten unusually talkative. Dean has no intention of ever letting his brother live that night down, and now the return of his shoe has provided Dean with an excellent entry point for further teasing. 

“I should really just get rid of it,” Sam says, “since I don’t have the other one anymore. But I’d feel guilty about it, now, knowing Castiel kept it all this time.”

“Don’t throw it out,” Dean says quickly. He can just imagine the hurt look on Castiel’s face if he ever learned that Sam had discarded his long-lost shoe: blue eyes wide, a displeased twist to his lips…

“Dean,” Sam says.

“Yeah?”

“You missed the exit.”

“Damn it,” Dean swears, and the Impala’s tires screech as he pulls a U-turn, doing his best to ignore the knowing glances Sam is giving him from the passenger seat.

They pull up in front of the Roadhouse just over an hour later, a sense of contentment washing over Dean as he takes in the rambling structure and the familiar cars and trucks parked outside. In the two and half years since they took down the yellow-eyed demon, it’s become a reliable resting place for them. 

“Boys!” Ellen greets them from behind the bar as they walk in. “Get over here and tell me all about it.”

A smile spreads across Dean’s face as he and Sam make their way across the room, stopping to exchange greetings with the small groups of hunters scattered around the room. 

“Hey, Ellen,” Sam says, sliding onto a bar stool. “Nothing much to tell, really.”

“We all know that’s not true,” she frowns, filling two pint glasses and pushing them across the counter. “How big was the nest?”

“Five of them,” Dean answers, taking a long swallow his beer. “Tracked ‘em to a big old warehouse, had ourselves a nice fight, and here we are.”

Ellen looks them over, her gaze assessing, then nods sharply. “Good.”

Sam and Dean trade amused glances, well-used to this post-hunt report by now. Ellen maintains that it’s purely for the sake of information, but they all know it’s also her way of checking in on them, making sure they emerged from the latest case without any major trauma, not that she’d ever admit it. 

“You boys want anything to eat?” she offers. ‘We’ve got chili on.”

“Oh, you know I can’t turn down your chili,” Dean replies with a grin.

“Coming right up.”

They spend a few hours in the main room of the bar, catching up with some of the other regulars. At one point, Dean leans over the bar and says to Ellen, “Busy in here today.”

She shrugs and continues pouring shots of whiskey. “Hasn’t been a lot of activity lately,” she admits. “So a lot of the crew is just hanging around here, waiting on new cases to pop up.”

Sam pauses his conversation with Tracy Bell and looks over at them. “It has been quiet lately, hasn’t it?”

“Is that such a bad thing?” Tracy asks. “Demon activity is finally tapering off now that we’ve rounded up most of the ones who got out when the Devil’s Gate opened. The usual ghosts and ghouls and vamps are still around, but with the way Ellen’s running things now, we’re on top of those cases way faster than we’ve ever been before.”

“It’s not a bad thing,” Sam agrees. “It’s just...different.”

Dean takes another sip of his beer, thinking over what Tracy said. After he killed the yellow-eyed demon, they were so busy rounding up and exorcising all the other demons who escaped through the Devil’s Gate that they barely had time to enjoy their revenge. And then there were other cases to handle, just like always, and somehow two years passed without either he or Sam really bringing up what was next for them.

Dean’s not an idiot. He knows his brother won’t stay in the life forever. Knows he still has dreams of going back to school, of having a normal life. And Dean wants that for him. The kid’s been through enough.

But he doesn’t like to think about what it means for him. Doesn’t like to imagine hunting on his own, or teaming up with somebody else from the Roadhouse crew. And unlike Sam, he’s never known any kind of life other than hunting. So if the cases are drying up and Sam starts getting restless, where does that leave Dean?

“Be right back,” he mutters. The others barely give him a glance as he heads towards the back of the bar and up the stairs to the rooms Ellen keeps for them. Dean flops onto the bed and pulls out his phone to check the time, wondering if it’s late enough he can just call it a night without rousing too much suspicion.

He’s surprised to see a new message waiting for him. He doesn’t recognize the number, but it’s a New York area code, so there’s only one person it can be from.

_Hello, Dean._

Dean grins at the odd but endearingly formal words and immediately starts typing a reply. 

_Hey, Cas. Good to hear from you._

_I apologize if this is overly forward of me, but you did leave your number…_

_Nah, it’s cool. As long as you’re not about to tell me I left something behind that you found down in one of your tunnels._

_No._

Dean waits, but there’s no further reply. He came up here looking to get away from other people, but he weirdly doesn’t mind texting with Castiel. It’s a nice distraction from his troubled thoughts.

_Find anything else cool today?_

_Not today. I had to work._

He doesn’t know why he’s surprised to hear Castiel mention a job, but he figures he should probably pretend not to be. He already made an ass of himself showing his surprise at him having a house.

_What do you do?_

_Mostly web-based work. Editorial services and the like._

_Do you like it?_

_It’s satisfying, finishing a project. But it does get lonely._

“I bet,” Dean mutters to himself. Castiel told them he doesn’t really have friends, and now Dean learns he doesn’t even really have co-workers either, at least not ones he interacts with regularly.

_I’ve got the opposite problem. I’m hiding out from what you might call my co-workers._

_Do you not like them? I always imagined the hunting community to be quite tight-knit._

_It wasn’t for a long time. Lots of suspicion, hunters not trusting anybody but themselves. And I can’t really blame them for that._

_So what changed?_

Dean laughs. _Well, me and Sam got caught up in some heavy-duty crap. Sam almost died, we accidentally let a Devil’s Gate be opened, but then we killed the demon that killed our mom and got kinda famous for it. Now our friend Ellen runs a hunters’ network out of her bar here in Nebraska, and we’re slowly learning to play nice._

It takes a few minutes for Castiel to reply, and Dean starts to wonder if maybe he scared him off with all his talk of hunters and them becoming organized. He can see how that might be a bit menacing, in retrospect. But then a new message comes through.

_I’m sorry about your mother._

All the information Dean crammed into that message, and that’s what Castiel picked up on. Throat tight, he sends back _Thanks._

_If you’d ever like to talk about it…_

And that’s the thing. Dean doesn’t talk about his mom. Ever. All the other hunters know the story, of course, and they’ve all experienced similar loss in their lives, so they don’t comment on it. It just goes unspoken that they’re all carrying their own private grief. But he told Castiel without even thinking about it. 

_Not right now, but I’ll keep the offer in mind._

_Please do._

Dean catches himself yawning, and checks the time on his phone, surprised to see it’s already past eleven. Early by his normal standards, but they never really got much sleep the past few days. 

_I think I’m gonna call it a night._

_Of course. Sleep well, Dean._

_Night, Cas._

He plugs his phone in to charge and strips off his clothes, climbing under the covers with a contented sigh. This bed is so much better than all the ones they sleep in when they’re on the road. The Roadhouse might be loud and rowdy and full of more plaid than Dean ever thought he’d see in his life, but it’s a good place to come back to after a long hunt. He has his own space, and that’s a luxury he’s never really had before.

He drifts off to sleep wondering what it might be like to have an entire house to call his own, rather than just a room. Or maybe not entirely his own, but shared with someone special. Someone...

***

They hang around the Roadhouse for just over a week, but no new cases land in their laps. Dean helps Ellen with some maintenance work on the place, hangs out with Ash, spends long afternoons reading. It’s nice, but there’s always a sense that it could end at any moment.

Eventually Ellen kicks them out. “Go bother Bobby for awhile,” she tells them. She’s smiling as she says it, though. “Grumpy bastard’s probably missing you boys, but we all know he’d never admit it.”

She’s probably right. They try to split their time pretty evenly between the Roadhouse and Bobby’s place, but between the hunt in New York and now this extended stay, it’s been awhile since they’ve seen him. 

“You’ll let us know if anything comes up?” Sam asks as they say their goodbyes.

“You bet,” Ellen answers. “And tell Bobby to get his ass down here some time, would you? Plenty of people would love to buy him a beer.”

“Yes ma’am,” Dean says, wrapping her in a tight hug. “See you soon, Ellen.”

They’ve only been driving for about half an hour when Sam reaches over and turns down the volume on the stereo. Dean glares at him and opens his mouth to protest, but the look on Sam’s face stops his words before they emerge.

“Dean, there’s something I want to talk to you about.”

“And what, you decided to wait until we were trapped in the car so I couldn’t avoid the conversation?” Dean shakes his head in admiration. “Well-played, Sammy.”

One corner of Sam’s mouth lifts in a half-smile. “Look,” he begins. “We both know the cases have been drying up, lately.”

So it is this conversation. The one Dean has been expecting for a while now. “Yeah,” he agrees.

Sam takes a deep breath. “And I’m starting to think that with the way Ellen is running things, the world would still keep spinning and people would still be saved even if I took a step back from hunting.”

He keeps sneaking these little glances at Dean like he’s waiting for him to explode, to bring the car to a screeching halt and drag him out for a shouting match. But Dean keeps his hands and his voice steady as he replies, “I think you’re right.”

“Wait, seriously?”

The shock in Sam’s voice would be insulting if it weren’t so amusing. “Yes, seriously.”

“Sorry, I just thought--”

Dean sighs. “You thought I’d throw a fit, scream about our legacy, our responsibility, the family business? Or get sad and broody and tell you I can’t do this alone, I need you with me?”

Two years ago, maybe even a year ago, that’s exactly what he would have done. He can’t really blame Sam for expecting it even now.

“Well, yeah,” Sam mutters. 

“This isn’t a surprise to me. I knew you wouldn’t be happy with hunting forever. Not after we took down the yellow-eyed demon and got our revenge, or whatever.”

Sam’s mouth turns down slightly at the mention of the demon, but he presses forward regardless. “So you knew,” he states. “You knew I wanted out.”

“You’ve wanted out for years,” Dean points out. “Then you got dragged back in, for good reason. And now that reason is gone, and from the looks of it, so is a hell of a lot of the work. So yeah, I’ve been expecting this.”

A few minutes pass in silence as Sam stares out the window, his face turned away from Dean. “I’ve been looking into finishing my degree,” he says quietly. 

“That’s great, Sam.” 

Turning to look at him, Sam says, “You mean that?”

“Of course I do. I always wanted you to chase that dream of yours, Sam. Sometimes I hated that it meant you leaving us, but that doesn’t mean I wasn’t proud of you, wasn’t cheering for you the entire time.”

Sam clears his throat. “Thanks, Dean. That, uh, really means a lot to me.”

This conversation is at risk of getting way more emotional than Dean anticipated, so he tries to rein it back in. “Then law school?” he asks.

“I’m not sure about that yet,” Sam replies, also looking relieved to leave the heavy emotional confessions behind. “I want to finish the one degree and then decide. There are still plenty of options, but I need to get this base first.”

“You know where you want to go?” Dean has a sneaking suspicion Sam won’t be going back to Stanford. Too many memories there.

“Not sure yet,” Sam says, then grins. “Ash is going to be able to get me in pretty much anywhere I want, so I don’t have to worry about that.”

“Nice,” Dean says approvingly. “No cheating once you’re in though, alright?”

“I don’t need to cheat,” Sam replies haughtily. 

“Yeah, okay, Einstein. Hey, you know this means you’re going to have send all your A+ papers to Ellen so she can hang them up in the Roadhouse to brag about, right?”

Sam groans. “Oh god, some of the crew are going to give me so much crap.”

“Nah.” Dean shakes his head. “Everyone is going to be really happy for you, man. You deserve this.”

Sam looks like he wants to say something else, but then shakes his head and reaches out to turn the stereo back up. “I guess I do.”

***

Bobby is glad to see them, as always, and they soon settle into a comfortable routine. Dean spends a lot of time out in the yard, first doing some maintenance on the Impala and making sure she’s in the best possible shape, then fiddling with some of the other junkers scattered around the place. Sam goes running, occasionally pops by to give Dean a hand, but mostly spends his time with his nose buried in textbooks. Dean wonders if he’s been doing this for a while now but felt he had to hide it from him. He’s glad they had that talk about Sam going back to school if it means his brother can be more open about his ambitions now.

In the evenings, Dean likes to experiment in the kitchen. He finds old recipe books scattered among the lore on Bobby’s shelves or tries new things he finds online. The first time he makes a peach pie from the late Karen Singer’s recipe collection, Bobby gets a strange, distant look on his face, and Dean wonders if it was a mistake. But then Bobby thanks him, gruff as ever, and asks him to try his hand at the pecan next. 

And in between all that, Dean spends hours texting back and forth with Castiel.

It’s funny how quickly Cas has become part of his life, considering he only met the guy once. And also considering the fact that Dean tried to stab him the first time they met. He still feels kind of guilty about that, but it seems to amuse Castiel now more than anything, so he guesses he’s forgiven. 

_I found a bra hanging in a tree today_ , Cas will tell him. 

_Oh yeah? Is it a nice one?_

And Cas will send a picture of the item in question, Dean will comment on it or make some joke about how its owner is probably incredibly confused as to where it went. 

Or on other days, Dean will send Cas a picture of whatever he’s making for dinner that night. Cas will reply with a string of emojis expressing his excitement and jealousy. 

He’s in the middle of one such conversation, updating Cas on the progress of his roast chicken and root vegetables, when Bobby wanders into the kitchen and fixes him with an unnerving stare.

“It’ll be about twenty more minutes,” Dean says absently. “Staring at it won’t make it cook faster.”

“Somebody oughta make sure it doesn’t burn, since you seem to be paying more attention to your phone,” Bobby replies, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning back against the wall. “Who’s got you so distracted?”

Dean can feel his cheeks heating up, and not just from the warmth of the oven. “No one,” he mutters.

“Uh-huh.” Bobby doesn’t sound convinced. “No one got a name?”

“Just somebody we met on our last case,” Dean says, carefully avoiding any mention of either Castiel’s gender or species. “We kept in touch.”

“I can see that.” Bobby nods towards the phone on the counter. “Gonna do anything about it, other than make heart-eyes at your little screen there?”

It’s the same question Dean has been asking himself, these past weeks. He really likes talking to Castiel, and it’s not like they’re doing anything particularly important at the moment anyway. He could drive back to Buffalo, pop in for a visit, let Cas show him around those admittedly impressive tunnels again…

“I don’t know,” he says instead. “I’m thinking about it.”

“Don’t think too hard,” Bobby advises, then grabs himself a beer from the fridge and leaves. “Call me when it’s ready.”

Of course Dean is going to overthink this. It’s just what he does. But Bobby’s comments do make him wonder. They were encouraging, in a way. Of course, Bobby has no idea that Cas is a shapeshifter, which might change his tone. They could probably talk him around, but it might take some time. 

And even then… if Dean did go back to see Castiel, what would it mean? Their conversations have been frequent, but well-within the realm of friendly chats. Dean has no idea if Castiel likes talking to him in particular, or if he’s just happy to have someone to talk to at all. Or how he would react if Dean admitted that his interest might push the boundary of friendly.

Because the more they talk, the more Dean is forced to admit that this is an unusual situation for him. He doesn’t really make friends. He has Sam, and Bobby, and Ellen, and Jo, but they’re more like family. Ash is a friend, he supposes, but he can’t imagine himself checking his phone for new texts from Ash with the same eagerness. The last time Dean felt like this about somebody was probably Cassie, and that makes it all pretty clear. It’s the same rush, the same sensation of the ground falling out from under his feet, the awareness that it’s too much too soon and not really caring anyway.

His phone beeps at him, and Dean glances down at it. It’s a picture of a rather pitiful-looking peanut butter sandwich. _My dinner tonight_ , Cas wrote.

_Dude, that’s so sad. I’m going to cook for you sometime_ , Dean replies without even thinking about it.

_I’d like that._

He can feel a goofy grin spreading across his face, but at least Bobby’s not here to witness it anymore. _What’s your favourite food?_

_Burgers._

“My kind of guy,” Dean chuckles. _I haven’t perfected my own burger recipe yet, but the ones at the Roadhouse are the best I’ve ever had._

_That is unfortunate, since that means I’ll never be able to test that claim._

Dean frowns at his screen, trying to decipher Cas’ message, and then it hits him. God, he’s an asshole. Talking about how good the burgers are at a hunter’s gathering place. To a shapeshifter who could never set in foot in the place without being afraid for his life.

_Fuck, I’m sorry, Cas. I didn’t mean it like that._

_I know._

Dean still feels like a dick. He hesitates, trying to think of something else to say, but then the timer goes off and he gets distracted getting dinner on the table. By the time he gets back to his phone an hour later, Cas hasn’t said anything else, and Dean worries he’s really fucked it up this time.

He was a fool to think he and Cas could have something more than this text-based relationship. Their worlds are too far apart, too opposed to one another. Dean sighs and turns his phone off, hoping it will be easier to pretend that way. Pretend that everything is still okay. Pretend that he and Cas still have a chance.


	3. Chapter 3

Three days pass, and Castiel doesn’t reach out again.

Technically, Dean knows it’s his turn to speak, if the proper back-and-forth order of messaging is being followed, but he doesn’t know what to say. Doesn’t know how to address their situation, but also doesn’t want to trivialize it by moving on with a joke or another picture of that night’s dinner. So he doesn’t make that move, and neither does Cas.

But on Thursday evening, just when he’s starting to come to terms with it, he receives a message.

_I need your help._

Dean frowns down at his phone. He’s thrilled to hear from Cas, of course he is, but something feels off. 

_Sure. Need a recipe or what?_

_Dean. I’m serious._

Before Dean can start to type a reply, his phone buzzes with an incoming call. He answers it, suddenly tense. He and Cas have never spoken over the phone. If he’s calling Dean now, something must be seriously wrong.

“Cas? What is it?”

He hears a heavy sigh on the other end of the line. “I’m not sure I should even be telling you this,” Castiel says slowly. His voice is just as deep and smooth as Dean remembers, and he can’t deny the pleasure it brings him to hear it again.

“Okay. Take your time.” 

“It’s about my family,” Cas continues. “They’re planning something.”

“Something bad, I’m guessing.”

“Yes.”

Dean pinches the bridge of his nose and exhales deeply. “Okay. How did you find out?”

“My sister, Hannah. She tracked me down, called me this afternoon. She doesn’t want anything to do with it, and I don’t blame her. I suppose she came to me looking for reassurance that she could say no, that she didn’t have to follow along simply because they’re family.”

“Cas, I need you to tell me what they’re planning,” Dean says. His heart rate is increasing, adrenaline coursing through his body. Preparing for a fight. 

“They’re going to rob a medical lab at Columbia,” Cas says in a rush. “There’s some sort of new medication they’ve been working on there, and it’s almost ready, but Michael and Raphael want to get their hands on it first and sell it on the black-market or something ludicrous like that.”

Dean blinks. That doesn’t sound so bad. “A robbery?” he says. “Isn’t that kind of the norm for you guys?”

“You don’t understand, Dean. This drug...it could be life-changing for thousands of people. Without it, their lives are at risk. If Michael and Raphael sell it off to the highest bidder, the price will go through the roof and the people who need it the most won’t be able to afford it. They’ll die, Dean.”

“Shit,” Dean mutters. He knows Castiel is right. His family might not be killing people directly, like some of the other shifters they’ve encountered, but if people are going to die because of what they’re planning, Dean has to do something.

“I know it couldn’t have been easy, telling me this,” he says softly. “Thanks, Cas.”

He wants to ask how Cas is feeling, how he’s handling the news, but he isn’t sure he has that right, especially now.

“You should come here,” Castiel suggests. “We’ll make a plan, and we’ll stop them.”

“We?” Dean repeats. “Woah, woah, Cas. Are you sure you should be getting involved?”

He can practically hear Cas rolling his eyes. “I’m already involved. You’ll never find them in time without me, Dean. You need my help just as much as I need yours.”

“Fine,” Dean sighs. “Fine. Look, I’ll head out first thing in the morning, okay? Do we have time?”

“I think so,” Castiel replies. “Something about the medication not quite being ready yet. It will be a few more days before they make their move.”

“Okay. I’ll be there as soon as I can. Let me know if you hear anything else, okay?”

“Okay. And Dean?”

“Yeah?”

“Thank you.”

Castiel ends the call, and Dean is left staring down at his phone, a whirlwind of thoughts running through his mind. He should have tried harder to be sympathetic, to act as a friend to Castiel and not just as a resource. Dean vows to do better when they see each other in person. 

But first, he has to get back to Black Rock.

“Who was that?”

Dean looks up to see Sam standing in the doorway, frowning at him. He’s got a thick book in his hand, but instead of an occult symbol embossed on the front, it has a picture of smiling faces and something about “social dynamics” in the title.

Dean’s throat tightens. Sam has been doing so well, working so hard. He seems energized in a way Dean hasn’t seen him look in years. Dean can’t drag him off on another case, not now.

“No one,” he answers. “Nothing important. What are you studying, there?”

Sam gives him one of those looks and drops his book, then sits down across from Dean. “Bullshit.”

He should have known he wouldn’t be able to lie to Sam. “Don’t worry about it,” Dean tries instead. “I can handle it.”

“Handle what?” Sam waits patiently, but Dean knows him. There’s no escaping this conversation now.

Sighing, he says, “That was Cas.”

“Oh, really? You guys kept in touch?” Sam’s voice is neutral, but his eyes are dancing with mischief. On any other day, Dean would bristle at it, but there are more important things at stake.

“He got wind of something his family’s going to pull. Something that could hurt a lot of people. He needs my help.”

Sam frowns. “Our help, you mean?”

“I can take care of it,” Dean says immediately. “You stay here, keep studying.”

“Yeah, right.” Sam stands and crosses his arms over his chest. “I’m coming with you.”

“Sam…”

“No, look.” Sam’s face is set in stubborn lines, his jaw tight. “People are in danger and you expect me to just sit this one out?”

“Isn’t that your plan?” Dean fires back, rising to his feet. “Fuck. I didn’t mean it like that, just--”

“I know.” Sam’s shoulders drop from their defensive pose and his face smoothes into a softer expression. “I know I told you I’m getting out, Dean. But not yet, and not at all once. It doesn’t have to be so cut and dry.”

Dean runs a hand through his hair. “I don’t want you to feel pressured, like I’m dragging you back into this. Again.”

“You aren’t,” Sam says firmly. “I’m going with you, and that’s my choice.”

They stare each other down for a few more minutes, and then Dean shrugs. “Alright,” he says. “Fine.”

He’s secretly thrilled, of course. Having Sam by his side will be make this job a hell of a lot easier. And also create a nice buffer between he and Cas in case of any awkwardness. 

“So what’s the story?” Sam asks, settling back into his chair.

“Basically, Castiel’s family is planning to rob a medical lab at Columbia and sell some new medication on the black market. His sister Hannah found out and told Cas, and he told me. We’ve got to stop them, Sam. People will die without that drug.”

“Christ,” Sam mutters. “That’s messed up.”

“I know. We’ve got a few days before the whole thing goes down, fortunately, so we’re gonna head up to Black Rock in the morning and meet up with Cas, then make a plan from there.”

Sam nods. “Got it. I’ll start packing.”

He gets to his feet, and just as he’s almost out the door, Dean calls after him. “Sam? Make sure to pack all the silver. All of it.”

***

It’s a sixteen hour drive from Sioux Falls to Buffalo, and they make it one very long day. It’s just after midnight by the time they pull up in front of Castiel’s little house. Sam is behind the wheel, and he looks over at Dean as he parks the car. “Did you tell Castiel we were almost here?”

“Texted him awhile back,” Dean mumbles, still a bit groggy from his nap. “He knows we’re coming.”

Just as he finishes speaking, the porch lights flicker on. “Come on,” he says, pushing open the car door. “Let’s go get an update.”

Before they can even ring the bell, Castiel opens the front door, a strained smile on his face. He’s wearing a soft-looking grey sweater and a pair of black-framed glasses, and Dean feels an overwhelming rush of affection at the sight of him. 

“Hey,” he says, clearing his throat. “Sorry it’s so late. But we thought it was better to not waste time.”

“Of course,” Castiel says. “Please, come in.”

He leads them into the kitchen, which is small but surprisingly clutter-free, compared to what they’ve seen of the house before. “Would you like something to drink?” he asks. “I can make decaf, if you prefer.”

“That would be great, thanks,” Sam replies. “Any news?”

Castiel shakes his head as he measures out coffee. “Nothing yet. Hannah has been so brave, contacting me in secret without alerting our brothers to her activities. We owe her a great debt.”

There’s a wistful note in his voice as he talks about his family, Dean realizes. It isn’t surprising, but it’s still hard for Dean to wrap his head around. His own family history is pretty messed up, he knows, but this? The lines being drawn, sibling against sibling? He sneaks a glance at Sam and sees a troubled look on his face. He’d be willing to bet he’s thinking the same thing.

“We’ll watch out for her,” Dean says. “I doubt she’s going to want to stick around with the rest of them after this.”

“Probably not,” Castiel agrees, carrying three mugs over to the table and taking the seat between Dean and Sam. “But we should probably focus on how we go about stopping this plan of theirs before we discuss plans for afterwards.”

“Right,” Sam says with a nod. “So, what can you tell us?”

Castiel stares down into his mug. “They’ll knock out the guards,” he says dully. “Take on their appearances, use their security clearance to get inside the lab. One of them will break the surveillance cameras beforehand, of course. The eye flash would give us them away. They’ll get in, get what they want, and leave as quickly as possible, making sure to leave a few fingerprints behind. The guards will be blamed for it. Incontrovertible evidence at the scene of the crime.”

Dean lets out a low whistle. “So they’ve done this before.”

“Yes,” Castiel replies. “But normally it’s rich housewives who lose their diamond earrings, not people with life-threatening conditions losing access to life-saving medication.”

“What made them step up their game?” Sam asks. 

Castiel gives a moody shrug. “Boredom?” he suggests. “Greed? Ambition? Some combination of the three?”

“They sound like real charmers,” Dean mutters under his breath.

He’s treated to a grin from Castiel. A small one, but nevertheless. “They can be,” he says. “When it serves their purposes.”

“So what’s their weakness?” is Sam’s next question.

“You mean other than silver?” Castiel’s tone is dry, but his grip on his mug tightens. Dean is fleetingly tempted to reach out and take hold of his hand, but he restrains himself. Now is not the time. 

“Yeah.”

“The element of surprise, I suppose,” Castiel says thoughtfully. “They have no idea I even know what they’re planning, let alone that I would try to stop them. Or that I would ask hunters for help.”

Dean winces at the reminder of how extreme their situation is. “Yeah, well. You did the right thing.”

“I know,” Castiel says softly. “I keep telling myself that, and yet…”

Sam and Dean exchange troubled glances, but Castiel intercepts them and gives a wry smile. “I’m glad I found your shoe, Sam,” he says. “Somehow, it all led to this.”

“Life’s funny that way,” Dean agrees. He drains the last of his coffee and stands. “We’ll get out of your hair, go find a motel to crash at for the night.”

“Oh.” The corners of Castiel’s mouth turn down slightly. “I thought you could stay here.” His eyes are wide and hopeful behind his glasses.

Sam pauses halfway out of his seat. “We wouldn’t want to impose,” he says, but Castiel waves his words away.

“I have plenty of space,” he says. “The guest room is ready for you.”

“That’s really generous of you,” Dean says. “Thanks, Cas.”

“My pleasure.” Cas gives him a soft smile and gestures towards the stairs. “Let me show you.”

He leads them to a comfortable room at the front of the house with two double beds, covers turned down invitingly. “There’s a bathroom just across the way,” he says. “And my room is at the end of the hall. Please let me know if there’s anything you need.”

“We really appreciate it,” Sam says with a laugh. “Much nicer than our usual accommodations.”

Cas gives them one last smile, his eyes lingering on Dean’s face for a moment, and then disappears into his room, the door closing softly behind him.

Sam goes back out to the car to get their duffels while Dean uses the bathroom and does a quick check of the house, making sure the back door is firmly locked. He meets Sam coming back in through the front and locks it behind him as well, then flicks off the lights as they head back upstairs. 

“It was nice of Castiel to let us stay,” Sam remarks as they’re climbing into bed. The mattress is the perfect balance of soft and firm and Dean sinks into it with a groan of pleasure. 

“Yeah,” he agrees carefully. “Really nice.”

There’s a pause, but then Sam simply wishes Dean goodnight and turns off the lamp beside his bed. Dean snuggles in deeper and closes his eyes. They’ve got a busy few days ahead of them, but for now, they can rest.

***

He wakes a few hours later, disturbed from his sleep by the sound of creaking stairs. He glances over at Sam, who continues to snore lightly, his instincts clearly not perceiving the noise as a threat.

But Dean still pulls his jeans and t-shirt back on and exits the room as quietly as he can. He can see a light on in the lower level of the house, and he follows it back to the living room, where Cas is standing in front of the bookshelf.

He turns just as Dean enters the room. “I’m sorry,” he says, voice pitched low. “Did I wake you?”

“Light sleeper,” Dean explains. “It’s alright.”

Castiel just nods. “I haven’t been sleeping well, lately,” he admits, rubbing a hand over his face, which makes his glasses sit slightly askew. Dean itches to reach out and straighten them, but keeps his hands tightly clenched at his sides. 

“Is there anything I can do?” he offers. “We’re here to help, after all.”

That brings a small smile to Castiel’s face. “I didn’t know lending a sympathetic ear was part of a hunter’s skill set.”

“It isn’t, really. We’re crap at the feelings stuff. Everything gets buried deep and drowned out with whiskey.”

“I have whiskey,” Castiel replies solemnly. “Come on.”

He leads Dean back into the kitchen and pours two glasses of the amber-coloured alcohol. It’s much better stuff than what Dean’s used to, and he lets it linger on his tongue, enjoying the taste of it. He glances up to see Castiel watching him, then hastily looking away, a hint of colour rising in his cheeks. 

They drink in silence for a few more minutes, and then Dean simply can’t hold it back any longer.

“I’m sorry for what I said, about the burgers, and the Roadhouse,” he blurts out. “It was stupid, and insensitive.”

Castiel frowns at him over the top of his glass. “I’m not-- Dean, did you think I was angry with you?”

“Yes?” Dean replies weakly.

“I’m not,” Castiel says firmly. 

Dean wants to ask why he went silent, then, if not out of anger, but he can’t give voice to the words. They’re too desperate, would show too much of his hand.

But Castiel seems to anticipate them anyway. “I admit, I began to doubt our friendship,” he says slowly. “I told you, I’m not accustomed to having people in my life. I panicked, and I didn’t know what to say. So I said nothing.”

It breaks Dean’s heart when Castiel references his solitary life like this. For all that Dean has experience with the difficulty of maintaining relationships while also keeping parts of his life secret, he’s never truly felt alone. He’s always had Sam, or his dad, or Bobby and Ellen. Castiel lost whatever support he had from his family when he walked away from them years ago, and now he’s being forced to place himself firmly in opposition to them. 

Alongside hunters. His kind’s natural enemy. 

Dean huffs a laugh, taking another sip of his whiskey. “But you still called me for help.”

“It wasn’t an easy decision,” Castiel admits. “I wanted to handle it myself. But I’m too close to the situation. I know they need to be stopped, and I thought you and Sam might be able to help prevent it from happening altogether, rather than another hunter putting the pieces together later and killing my entire family.”

Dean had been hoping they wouldn’t need to bring up that possibility. “Cas,” he says, as gently as he can, “if they do this, and people die because of it...you know what we have to do.”

He hates himself for even saying it. Hates the way Castiel closes his eyes, hates the pain on his face. 

“I hope it doesn’t come to that,” he continues. “If we can stop them…”

“You’ll what, let them go with a warning?” Castiel opens his eyes and meets Dean’s gaze, unflinching.

“Maybe,” Dean says. “But we’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.”

It’s far from reassuring, he knows, but it seems to be enough for Cas, who nods and says, “I appreciate your honesty.”

Draining the last of his whiskey, Dean nods at the bottle on the counter. “You want another?”

“No,” Castiel says, “I think I should try to get back to sleep.”

“Probably a good idea,” Dean agrees. 

They make their way back up the stairs in silence, and just before Dean enters his room, he pauses. “For what it’s worth,” he says, “I’m sorry about all of this.”

Castiel just gives him a sad little smile. “And to think, it all started with one lost and found shoe.”

“Are you regretting bringing it back now?”

There’s only a split second pause before Castiel answers. “No. I couldn’t regret meeting you.”

There isn’t much Dean can say to that, not now. So he just nods, his throat tight, and flees back to the safety of the guest room, heart pounding in his chest as he closes the door behind him.


	4. Chapter 4

In the morning, they come up with a plan.

They don’t know where to find Castiel’s family when they reach New York. Hannah says they’ve been moving around a lot between their various hideouts, and that Michael and Raphael haven’t been around much, so it will be difficult to pin them down. The break-in won’t take place until the following night, so there’s enough time to drive into the city and hopefully track Castiel’s brothers down before they can even get to the laboratory.

Dean has a feeling it won’t be that easy, though, and says so.

“Forgive me for at least attempting to be optimistic,” Castiel replies tightly. He still looks stressed, with dark circles under his eyes and a tight grip on his mug of coffee. 

“Optimism might get us killed,” Sam says as gently as possible. “We have to be realistic.”

“Very well,” Castiel says with a sigh. “I did ask for your help, after all. You’re the experts.”

Normally Dean would grin, make some smartass remark, but when Castiel turns his weary gaze towards him, all Dean can do is clear his throat and get down to business.

“We have to plan for the worst possible outcome,” he says. “In this case, that means us not finding your brothers before tomorrow night, and their plan being put into motion.”

“Right.” Castiel stares down into his cup of coffee like it might hold all the answers. “We know where they’re going to be, at least.”

“And you can find them before they shift into the security guards, right? If we’re there keeping watch?” Sam asks.

Castiel hesitates for a second, then shakes his head. “Unlikely,” he says quietly. “They’re too smart to get anywhere near the scene wearing their own faces. They’ll take on other appearances first, then shed those skins and become the guards. That way their own identities won’t be compromised.”

Dean swears under his breath. Goddamn clever monsters. “I don’t suppose you guys have some way of recognizing each other even when you’re in other bodies, huh?”

“No,” Castiel answers with a roll of his eyes. “We don’t have special shifter-sensing abilities.”

“You never know,” Dean mutters, flushing. “You have special object-reading abilities, after all.”

Softening slightly, Castiel smiles. “That’s true. And that particular talent of mine may be useful, now that you mention it.”

“How so?” Sam leans forward, intrigued.

“If we find one of my brothers’ safe-houses, even if they’re not there, I might be able to get some sense of them from their things,” Castiel explains. “Some flashes of their plans, some insight that could help us in some way.”

“That would be awesome,” Dean grins. “The more information we have, the better our chance of stopping them.”

“I would prefer if we could do so without any bloodshed,” Castiel continues, looking between Sam and Dean. “But before we leave, I feel I ought to make it clear that I’m under no illusions. I know who you are, and I know what you do. And I’ve still asked for your help. If this ends with one of my brothers dead, I won’t blame you. I hope that you’ll extend me the courtesy of doing your best to ensure it doesn’t end that way.”

“Of course, Cas,” Sam says, reaching over to squeeze his shoulder reassuringly.

“Of course,” Dean echoes. Unlike Sam, he doesn’t touch Castiel, afraid the contact might reveal more than he’s willing to show at this time, but he hopes his sincerity is evident from his tone. 

They finish their breakfast in companionable silence, each lost in their own thoughts. Then Castiel disappears to pack a few things while Dean quickly cleans up the kitchen and Sam reloads the car with all their gear. By mid-morning, they’re on the road to New York City. 

Sam graciously offers to let Castiel ride in the passenger seat, sneaking a knowing glance at Dean as he does. Dean feels the tips of his ears go warm but busies himself sliding behind the wheel, turning his face away so Sam can’t read his expression. Castiel declines politely, though, and climbs into the backseat. Dean does his best not to let his disappointment show.

Even if he can’t see Cas very well, it’s pleasant to hear his voice as he and Sam chat while Dean keeps most of his attention on the road. Sam asks about some of the things Castiel has collected over the years, and when Dean glances in the rearview mirror he can see the way Cas leans forward as he speaks, the way he gestures to emphasize a point. It brings a smile to his face in spite of the all-too-serious reason for this little road trip.

Well, little might not be the right word. It’s a six and half hour drive from Buffalo to New York City, and they make two stops for coffee and gas along the way. Dean gets increasingly nervous as they approach the city, already feeling the press of too many people, too many cars. He much prefers the open roads to the narrow city streets, but he’ll just have to deal with them. There’s a job to be done here.

Castiel directs him through the snarled mess of traffic and towards a calmer area of the city. He instructs Dean to pull up in front of a three-storey brownstone, and is out of the car before Dean has even taken the keys out of the ignition.

“Cas?” Dean asks, coming around to stand on the sidewalk beside him. “Where exactly are we?”

“My old apartment,” Castiel answers, his gaze fixed on the building. “It should be a safe base of operations for us.”

“You still have it in your name?” Sam asks, joining them.

“Yes.” Castiel reaches into his pocket and produces a set of keys, then opens the door to the building and leads them up to the second floor. His unit is at the far end of the hall, and when he unlocks the door it swings open easily.

It’s a bit dusty, of course, but still a pretty nice place. What Dean notices first, though, is how empty it is compared to Castiel’s house in Black Rock. There are no trinkets on the shelves, which only hold a few books. No framed pictures on the walls, not even a decorative throw pillow to be seen.

Sam is already cautiously opening the doors that lead off the main room, checking that they’re alone, so Dean takes a moment to close the distance between himself and Castiel, coming up beside him where stands with one hand on the fake fireplace mantel.

“Did you take everything with you when you left?” Dean asks softly.

“Hmn?” Castiel turns to face him, his eyes distant. “A few things. But my family never encouraged my collection habit. They had very strong views about what was important and what wasn’t. If it wasn’t valuable in the monetary sense, it wasn’t worth keeping.”

What a bunch of assholes, Dean thinks. But he just shakes his head and says, “They’re wrong.”

He gets a smile in return. “I know,” Castiel says. “If I ever decide to move back here, I’m bringing as many of my trinkets with me as I can fit.”

“Good for you.” Before Dean can say anything else, though, Sam comes back out to the main room to join them, shaking his head briefly. “Place is clear,” he announces.

“So now what?” Dean asks.

Castiel drops into the armchair by the window, pulling his phone out of his pocket. “Nothing from Hannah,” he says. “I’ll let her know we’ve arrived, and hopefully she’ll reach out soon with some tips on where Michael and Raphael might be.”

“Are they the main two we have to be worried about?” Sam asks.

“Yes. Hannah is clearly opposed to their plan, and while I’m not sure about Hael, she tends not to involve herself much in the action,” Castiel tells them. “I doubt she’ll be participating in any major capacity.”

“We can handle two guys,” Dean says with more confidence than he feels. 

“It’s not handling them that I’m worried about,” Sam replies. “It’s _finding_ them.”

He makes a good point. New York is a big city. Like, really big. And they’re searching for two people who can change their entire appearance in a matter of minutes. 

“I know a few places we can start,” Castiel says, rising to his feet. “Leave the car, Dean. It’ll only slow us down.”

“What?” No way he’s leaving Baby here. They could be gone for hours. What if somebody steals her? Or scratches her paint?

With his hand on the doorknob, Castiel looks back over his shoulder and grins. “Have you ever taken the subway in New York before?”

Sam’s just laughing at him, the traitor. Dean mutters darkly to himself as they leave the apartment, pausing to run a gentle hand over the Impala’s hood as they pass her on the street. “You’ll be fine,” he says quietly.

“And so will you.” Castiel places a reassuring hand on Dean’s shoulder and guides him down the sidewalk. “Come on. No time to waste.”

***

If they were just hopping from neighbourhood to neighbourhood on a tour for kicks, Dean would probably enjoy the subway a lot more. But every time they descend the stairs to catch another train, chasing down another potential lead, his frustration grows. He can’t blame Castiel for having trouble tracking his brothers down, but it’s not exactly Dean’s idea of a good time.

“This isn’t working,” Castiel says glumly after the third safe-house proves to be empty. It’s getting late, and they’re all tired. Even Sam, who had initially been so confident that they would be successful, is starting to wilt. 

“Is there anywhere else we can look?” Dean asks. He hates putting this much pressure on Castiel, but there are lives at stake here. 

Shaking his head glumly, Castiel says, “None that come to mind.” Before he can go on, they’re interrupted by a buzzing sound, and his hands darts into his pocket to retrieve his phone. “Hannah?” he says.

Dean and Sam exchange looks of anticipation as Castiel talks to his sister, and when he ends the call, he turns to them with a triumphant grin. “Hannah wants to meet with me,” he says. “I think she has has something to tell me, something that will help us all out.”

“She couldn’t just tell you over the phone?” Dean asks.

“She said she’d rather explain in person.” Castiel frowns. “Why does that matter?”

Dean looks to Sam for help, knowing he tends to be better at putting things in perspective.

“It’s just a bit of a red flag,” Sam explains. “Asking to meet in person is almost always a trap.”

“Why would Hannah want to trap me?” Castiel asks, clearly confused. “She’s the one who’s been helping us this whole time.”

“I know, Cas,” Dean says. “I know. We’re just saying, we should be careful.”

“I should be careful, you mean,” Castiel replies, and there’s a hint of coldness in his voice that wasn’t there a moment ago. “You can’t come with me.”

“Oh, hell no!” Dean exclaims. “Asking to meet in person is one thing. ‘Come alone’ is another. That’s just about the sketchiest thing you can say to someone. No way we’re letting you go alone.”

“It isn’t your decision to make,” Castiel says tightly. “And for your information, Hannah never asked that I come alone. Why would she? She has no idea I’ve asked you for help. I’m going alone because I know she won’t talk with you there.”

It’s a fair point. “Does she have to know we’re hunters?” Sam asks. 

“Oh, she’ll know,” Castiel replies. “We’re taught to look for the signs from a young age. You two…” He shakes his head. “There’s no way you’d pass for civilians, not to her eyes.”

“I don’t like this,” Dean mutters. “Where are you meeting her?”

“Dean--”

“No, Cas.” Dean holds up a hand to stop him. “We won’t come with you. Fine. That’s your decision to make. But you asked us for our help, remember? So we’re going to be there, nearby, keeping an eye on things, alright?”

Castiel looks like he wants to protest, but when Sam turns his pleading gaze towards him, he sighs, his shoulders slumping. “Fine,” he mutters. “This way.”

He guides them back onto the subway in silence, his mouth set in a tight line. Dean wants to reach out, to apologize for being so suspicious, but he gets the feeling Castiel isn’t really interested, so he just keeps his mouth shut and watches the stations go by. Eventually, Castiel says, “Our stop is next,” and they emerge back into the New York night.

Their destination is a small cafe on the corner right across the subway station. Castiel pauses and looks at Dean. “You stay out here,” he instructs. “I’ll see what Hannah has to say, and then I’ll come back and find you.”

“Hey, wait.” Dean reaches out and grabs Castiel by the sleeve of his coat as he turns away. “Just-- be careful, okay?”

Castiel’s face softens. “Of course.”

He doesn’t look back as he crosses the street and enters the cafe. There’s a feeling of unease settling in the pit of Dean’s stomach as he watches others come and go, wondering which of them is Hannah, or if she’s already inside. Wondering what she has to say that’s so important they had to meet in person.

“He’ll be okay,” Sam says after about ten minutes have passed. “He’s pretty tough.”

“Yeah,” Dean says, though he doesn’t feel all that confident. “For a weird, dorky little guy, I guess he is.”

It can’t be easy for Castiel, coming back to this city. Facing his family after so many years apart. But he’s doing it anyway, because it’s the right thing to do. Dean feels a flicker of admiration for Castiel’s bravery, his dedication to ensuring people don’t get needlessly hurt. Strangely, he thinks, it’s the kind of attitude that would make him a good hunter.

They continue to circle the block for another twenty minutes, Dean unsuccessfully trying to catch a glimpse of Castiel through the windows of the cafe every time he passes. 

“I’m going in there,” he finally announces. “I don’t have to talk to him, I can just pretend I need to use the bathroom or whatever, but this is bad news, Sam, I can tell.”

“I don’t disagree,” Sam says slowly, eyes flicking over to a group of young men who are entering the cafe. “I’ve got that same bad feeling about this.”

“You stay out here. Keep an eye on the door,” Dean instructs. “I’m gonna go have a look, then I’ll come right back out.”

Sam nods. “Stay sharp.”

“I always do.”

Inside, the cafe is warm and bustling, groups of people chatting and laughing over their beverages. Dean takes a quick sweep of the room and doesn’t see Castiel’s familiar dark head of hair. Ignoring the sinking feeling in his stomach, he makes his way to the counter and waits for the barista to greet him.

“What can I get for you today?” she asks, her smile slightly strained but still pleasant.

“I was actually wondering if you’d seen a guy in here, just a bit shorter than me, dark hair, wearing a tan trenchcoat?” Dean asks, giving her his most charming grin. “I’m supposed to meet him here but I was late.”

“Oh, yeah,” the barista nods. “He was in here. Really polite. He met up with some dark-haired girl, though, and they talked for awhile, but then she went to the bathroom, and he headed that way just a few minutes ago.” She lowers her voice, looking sympathetic. “Sorry, buddy. If it makes you feel any better, guy’s an asshole for trying to bring two dates to the same place on the same night.”

He doesn’t blame her for making that assumption, even though he knows better, so he figures he might as well run with it. “Yeah,” he agrees, “he is.”

He walks away from the counter, waiting until the barista’s attention is focused on another customer before slipping down the hall towards the bathrooms. “Cas?” he calls out as he enters.

There’s no reply.

“Shit,” he mutters under his breath. If Cas isn’t here… “Oh, shit.”

There’s a back exit. Of course there is. One that leads out into the alley. He and Sam noticed it as they circled the place. Dean pushes the door open, already reaching for his silver knife, and emerges into the alley just in time to see a flash of tan material disappear into the backseat of an unmarked white van as the door slams shut.

“No!’ he yells, but it’s too late. The van pulls out of the alley, tires screeching as it makes a hard right turn. Dean chases it for about a block, but the driver is clearly familiar with New York traffic and dodges around other cars with surprising skill. It isn’t long before he loses sight of it.

“Shit,” he says again, hands in his hair as he stares in the direction the van was heading. If only he’d listened to that little voice in his head telling him this was a bad idea. If only he’d gone in to check on Cas just a few minutes earlier. 

At least he managed to get a license plate number off the van. Whoever took Castiel wasn’t smart enough to cover their tracks, which makes sense considering they probably don’t even know Sam and Dean are here with him. Still muttering angrily under his breath, Dean jogs back towards the front of the cafe, already planning a dozen elaborate rescues. 

“What happened?” Sam asks as soon as Dean is within hearing range. “Where’s Cas?”

“Somebody took him,” Dean explains tersely. “I don’t know who. Barista said he and the girl he was with, I’m guessing Hannah, went to the bathrooms, but Cas wasn’t there. I went out the back door and just saw him getting loaded into a van. Couldn’t keep up, but I got the plate number.”

Sam frowns. “How’d they manage to time it so they grabbed him while you were inside and I was on this side of the building? Were they watching us too?”

“I don’t know,” Dean answers, suddenly exhausted. He slumps against the wall, slowly shaking his head. “Maybe. But their plates weren’t covered, which means they didn’t think they had anyone to hide from. I think it was just our usual shitty luck.”

Sam reaches out and lays a comforting hand on his shoulder. “It’s not your fault,” he says quietly.

“Of course it is,” Dean replies. “We should have gone in with him. We both knew this was a bad idea, and now he’s gone.”

“We’ll get him back.” Sam drops his hand and motions towards the entrance to the subway. “Come on. We’ll head back to the apartment, run the plates, try to figure out where they might have taken him.”

“You think it was his family?” Dean asks as they descend the stairs. “Or somebody else, after both him and Hannah?”

Sam’s forehead crinkles as he thinks it through. “I don’t know,” he says eventually. “Hopefully the plates will give us more information. But it can’t be a coincidence, Cas getting taken only once Hannah knew exactly where he would be.”

“Which means we can’t trust any information that came from her,” Dean points out. “So we’ve gotta start fresh.”

“Right.”

Fortunately, Sam was paying attention as Cas explained the subway system to them earlier in the day, so he manages to get them back to Cas’ apartment in a fairly efficient manner. As they’re approaching the building, however, Sam pauses, one arm outstretched to stop Dean in his tracks. 

“What if they’ve got eyes on this place?” he says, voice low. “If it wasn’t just bad luck, and they knew we were with Cas…”

“Let ‘em find us,” Dean shrugs. “It’ll make this whole thing a lot easier if we can get one of them to talk.” He draws his silver knife, the blade glinting under the streetlights.

He would welcome the chance to to get his hands on whoever took Cas right now. Especially if it was his family. Dean’s blood boils at the thought of them betraying Cas like that.

Wisely, Sam just nods. He unlocks the door to the building with the set of spare keys Cas handed them that afternoon, and they try to make as little noise as possible on the stairs and in the hallway leading to Cas’ unit. He pauses outside the door, and Dean readies his blade as Sam unlocks the door and swings it open.

They’re greeted by nothing but silence.

Dean is strangely disappointed. His anger and aggression have been burning under his skin since he saw that flash of Cas’ coat disappearing into the van. Part of him had been hoping for a fight, while another part had been hoping they might find Cas here, his kidnappers thinking it was a safe place to hide out. 

“Damn it,” he murmurs. They’re going to have to do this the old-fashioned way.

After a quick sweep of the other rooms, they settle in at the table with Sam’s laptop. It doesn’t take them long to hack into the records and find the information for the van. “Got it,” Sam announces. “The van is registered to Mike Smith. One of Cas’ brothers is named Michael, right?”

“Yeah, but so are a bunch of people,” Dean says. “Could be him. Could be someone else. Could be a totally made-up person. Got an address?”

“Yep.” Sam types it in and turns the screen to face Dean. “It looks like an apartment complex not far from here.”

Dean nods grimly. “Let’s go.”


	5. Chapter 5

Even in a city as big as New York, the Impala might stand out. So he and Sam head out on foot, and it only takes them about half an hour to arrive at the address listed on Mike Smith’s paperwork. It’s a ten-storey building, nothing remarkable about it, but they do a thorough sweep of the outside and surrounding area before finalizing their plan. They got caught off guard earlier in the evening, and now they’re paying for it. Dean won’t let that happen again.

“No security inside,” Sam reports, still watching the front entrance. “Buzzer to get in, but there’s lots of traffic in and out. We can follow someone in easily enough.”

“Perfect,” Dean replies. He pats his pockets to make sure all his silver knives are well-covered, then nods at Sam. “No time to waste.”

There’s a young woman leaving the building just as they pass through the exterior door. She opens the interior door and Sam gallantly holds it for her. She gives him an appreciative smile as she passes, extending it to Dean as well, who does his best to match it with one of his own. If anyone asks questions, it’s better that she doesn’t see him looking like a man on a mission to take down monsters.

Mike Smith’s apartment is on the seventh floor. The elevator is old and creaky, distracting from the tense silence between he and Sam. Dean checks the hallway carefully, but there don’t appear to be security cameras posted anywhere. Must come in handy for shifters, he thinks grimly, not having to fear being caught in their own home. 

Of course, it comes in handy for he and Sam as well, so he should probably be a bit more thankful about it. 

They pause outside the door to apartment 704, listening carefully. There’s no murmur from a television or radio, no muffled voices. Dean nods, and leans down to pick the lock while Sam keeps watch. With a quiet click, they have a way in.

Dean eases the door open, his knife drawn. The apartment is dark, and they enter slowly, letting their eyes adjust, knowing dark doesn’t always mean empty. A minute passes, and no one comes barreling out from behind a door at them, so Dean figures they’re safe and switches on the light.

The place is surprisingly normal-looking. A small kitchen, open to the living area, a few doors down a short hallway, one nice big window facing out onto the street. Decent furniture, a bit worn but matched, and a few magazines scattered across the coffee table. 

Sam flips through them, holding up a copy of Maxim and raising his eyebrows. “Maybe a normal guy after all,” he murmurs. “But let’s do a little digging, while we’re here.”

“You keep looking here, I’ll go check the bedroom,” Dean instructs.

There’s nothing out of the ordinary at first glance. The bed is neatly made, the closet is full of semi-professional clothing, there’s a trashy thriller novel on the nightstand. But Dean was raised to be thorough. He pulls open the drawers in the nightstand and rummages around. He finds all the usual items, and then, all the way at the back, a small wooden box.

“Yahtzee,” he says under his breath. He flips open the lid and frowns at the contents: dozens of various IDs with several different names on them. Shockingly similar to the box he and Sam keep in the trunk of the Impala. Except that in addition to the names being different, so are the faces.

“Gotcha, you bastard.”

He brings the box out back to the main room and wordlessly passes it to Sam, who looks at it for a mere second before he hands it back, his expression tightening. “So we are in the right place.”

“Yeah, sort of,” Dean replies. “ We know it was his family who took him, but obviously Cas isn’t here. He made it sound like they had places all over the city. They could have taken him anywhere.”

Sam taps the top of the box thoughtfully. “Maybe there are other addresses on some of these,” he says. “Other places Michael might own or rent using one of his other identities.”

It’s not a perfect solution, Dean knows, but it’s the best one they’ve got. So he opens the box and starts pulling out cards, checking them quickly. A number of them use this address, but a few others show up more than once as well. Sam makes notes of all of them in his phone, building a map of locations. They’re scattered across the city, and Dean knows it will take hours to check them all out. 

They’re only about halfway through the box when Dean hears the sound of a key turning in the lock. He immediately draws his knife and slides noiselessly back into the hall, taking up a position behind the door. Sam waits in the doorway to the kitchen, his own blade at the ready, and they exchange a brief nod as the door opens, revealing the figure of a young woman.

Her eyes widen in shock as Sam and Dean spring into action, Sam’s hand covering her mouth so she can’t scream, Dean closing the door behind them and spinning to press the edge of his blade to her throat. He can’t be sure, but he’d bet all the money he doesn’t have on this being Hannah.

“We can do this the easy way, or we can do this the hard way,” he says, keeping his voice low. “We’ve got questions, and if you give us the answers, we might let you go.” He has no intention of doing so, of course, but she doesn’t need to know that. And besides, he only said “might.” He’s not making any promises.

She nods frantically, and Sam slowly removes his hand. “You’re hunters,” she whispers, her voice full of fear. “My father always said--”

“Not what we’re interested in,” Dean says. “We’re more interested in your brothers.”

Her brow furrows. “Brothers?” she repeats. 

“You are Hannah, aren’t you?” Sam checks.

“How did you know that?” she gasps, eyes flicking back and forth between them, trying to shrink back against the wall. She looks terrified, and if Dean didn’t know for a fact that she had something to do with Cas getting taken, he might almost feel bad for her. Almost.

“Lucky guess,” Dean answers. “Cas told us about you, actually. Said you were having a crisis of conscience, wanted to put an end to this lab heist before it started. Then he went to meet with you and got kidnapped. So yeah, we know all about you.”

She flinches back like she’s been slapped. “I never meant for them to--”

“To what? To hurt him? To drag him off?” Dean’s anger is rising with every passing minute, and he takes a step back, fighting to regain his control. 

“I just wanted him to come home!” Hannah bursts out. “I just wanted my brother back. It’s the only reason I agreed to this ridiculous plot Michael and Raphael came up with.”

Sam and Dean trade wary glances. “What plot? Stealing a drug that could save the lives of thousands of people? Ridiculous isn’t exactly the word I would use for that.”

She just stares at them for a moment. “Don’t you understand?” When they don’t reply, she sighs heavily. “There is no plot to break into a lab at Columbia. We made the whole thing up. We knew if Castiel heard about something like that, he would come back to the city. Back to our turf, so to speak. It was all just a lure to bring him home.”

“What?” Dean can’t believe what he’s hearing. “What kind of sick, twisted scheme is that? If you missed him, why didn’t you just, I don’t know, tell him that?”

Hannah’s laugh is bitter. “It wasn’t my plan,” she says. “Michael and Raphael...well, let’s just say their reasons for wanting Castiel to come home aren’t as emotional as mine.”

Dean remembers what Cas told them, about why he left New York in the first place. How his family asked him to do things he wasn’t willing to do, how useful they found his additional abilities. 

“They want to use him,” Sam says slowly. His jaw twitches, and Dean can tell it’s taking all his effort to keep himself under control. 

“Yes,” Hannah admits.

“And you just went along with it?”

“I told you, I wanted my brother back. I didn’t think they would--” she cuts off, shaking her head.

“Didn’t think they would what?” Dean demands. “What are they doing to him?”

“Nothing, yet,” she says, voice barely above a whisper. “But I know them. If he doesn’t agree to help them, they’ll take it as a further betrayal, and they won’t hesitate to hurt him.”

“Fuck,” Dean mutters, rubbing his hand over his face. “So none of us want that to happen. You were with him when they took him, weren’t you? You lured him to that cafe.”

Hannah nods, her entire face lined with guilt and misery.

“So you know where they have him now.”

She nods again.

“Tell us where it is,” Sam says. 

Hannah draws in a deep breath, straightening her spine and meeting Sam’s eyes. “No,” she says.

“You just said you didn’t want him to get hurt,” Dean says tightly. “So help us help him.”

“I will,” she says. “But I’m coming with you.”

“Like hell you are,” Dean replies. “Why would we trust you, after everything you’ve done?”

“You don’t have to trust me,” she says. “I don’t care. But believe that I am sorry for the part I played in bringing Castiel here, and that I want to make it right. If you kill me later, at least I’ll die knowing I tried to save him.”

Dean looks at Sam over Hannah’s head, a silent conversation passing between them. Sam gives a little shrug and then nods, meaning it’s Dean’s call to make. He thinks it through, and then finally sighs, letting his blade drop.

“Fine,” he says. “Take us to Cas.”

***

Hannah insists on taking a cab to the apartment where Michael and Raphael are holding Castiel. Still not entirely convinced this isn’t another trap, Dean counters by insisting on being dropped off a block away, in case anyone is waiting for them, and taking Hannah’s phone away from her as an extra precaution. She glares at him, and for a moment she looks so much like Castiel that Dean almost laughs. He never really saw any kind of family resemblance until now.

It’s a much nicer area of the city than they’ve been to so far, and that only makes Dean more nervous. He and Sam are going to stick out like sore thumbs here. 

“So, what’s the plan?” Hannah asks as the exit the cab, standing on the sidewalk with her arms crossed over her chest. “You two swoop in like conquering heroes?”

“Not exactly,” Sam says. “We’re going to need your help getting in. I’m guessing the security on this place is a bit better than at the last one.”

“Yes,” Hannah agrees. “But if you’re with me, and you manage to wipe those threatening looks off your faces, it won’t be a problem.”

Dean flashes her his most charming, insincere grin. “Better?”

Rolling her eyes, Hannah turns and strides towards the building. “So she gets us in, and then what?” Sam asks quietly. 

“We make those assholes let Cas go,” Dean replies. 

“You know it’s never that simple, right?”

“Of course I do.” Dean pastes on the same grin he just gave Hannah. “Come on.”

The doorman barely looks up from his monitor as they follow Hannah into the building. She doesn’t say anything to him, her heeled boots clicking on the immaculate tiled floor as she moves towards the elevator. Unlike the last building, there are security cameras everywhere. Dean subtly indicates one, drawing Sam’s attention to it, and they exchange perplexed looks. 

Once they’re in the elevator, he turns to Hannah. “Isn’t it a bad idea to live in a place with so many cameras?”

She hits the button for the penthouse level and gives him a cool look. “Perhaps,” she admits after a long pause. “But my family enjoys luxury. I suppose Michael and Raphael deem it worth the risk.”

“The more I learn about these guys, the less I like them,” Dean mutters. Hannah just rolls her eyes, but Sam gives a short laugh and nods his agreement.

“Whether you like them or not is beside the point,” Hannah says briskly. “You clearly like Castiel enough to attempt this rescue, and that’s all that matters right now.”

Dean can’t argue with that. The elevator chimes, indicating that they’ve reached their floor, and the doors open soundlessly. Hannah leads them down the hall, and out of the corner of his eye, Dean sees Sam rest his hand at his waist, ready to draw his blade. He mimics the pose, every nerve in his body alight with tension. 

They approach the door, and Hannah silently motions to them to take up position on either side. She draws in a deep breath, squaring her shoulders, and Dean is surprised by the flash of respect that passes through him as he watches her physically brace herself for the upcoming fight. He knows all too well how difficult it can be to stand up to your family. Maybe she messed up, lying to Cas to get him here in in the first place, but she’s trying to make it right.

He gives her a nod, and she returns it, then slides her key into the lock and pushes open the door. 

Dean risks a quick look around the frame, but there’s no one there to greet her. He and Sam move into the suite with all their practiced stealth, following Hannah and the sound of raised voices coming from further within the apartment. 

“They’re still with him in the study,” Hannah whispers, so quietly Dean can barely hear her. “There’s only one way in.”

Which means they’re going to have to fight. At least it sounds like they’ll be evenly matched. “Get Cas out,” he instructs Hannah, keeping his voice as low as possible. “We’ll try to keep the exit clear.”

“Give me a few minutes to get closer to him,” Hannah replies. “Then come in.”

Sam and Dean both nod, and they continue down the hall. The voices are getting louder, and with relief, Dean hears Castiel’s unmistakable rumble. He can’t make out what he’s saying, but just knowing he’s alive is enough to give Dean the fuel he needs to see this thing through.

With one last glance over her shoulder, Hannah pauses in front of an open door, then disappears into the room beyond. “Still enjoying your chat?” she says, pitching her voice loudly enough that they can hear her in the hall. 

“Not particularly,” one of her brothers answers. “Castiel is being rather stubborn.”

“He always has been, haven’t you, Cas?” Hannah says mockingly. “Don’t you want us to untie these ropes? Don’t you want to be a family again?”

“Not at the price you ask,” Castiel replies. “Never at that price.”

Sam glances over at Dean, one eyebrow lifted. Dean holds up one finger, warning him to wait just a little while longer. Hannah’s playing her part well enough, from what they can hear, but he wants to make sure she’ll have time to get Cas untied. 

“Oh, please, Castiel,” Hannah laughs, “never say never. You’ll say yes, when the time is right.” Her voice raises slightly on her final words, and Dean tenses. That’s a signal for sure.

He and Sam burst into the room, silver knives drawn. The two men standing with their backs to the door turn at the sound, matching looks of surprise on their faces.

“Who the hell are you?” one of them asks. Dean recognizes his face from a few of the IDs they found at the other apartment and guesses this is Michael. “What is going on here?”

“You tell me,” Dean says. He glances quickly towards the corner of the room, where Castiel is slumped in a chair, Hannah crouched behind him. Michael and Raphael are paying them no attention, clearly focused on Sam and Dean. Good. He lifts his blade a little higher, letting the light reflect off it. Michael and Raphael both take a step back, obviously recognizing the silver for what it is.

“Hunters,” Raphael hisses. His fists clench tightly at his sides. “How did you find us?”

“Does it matter?” Sam asks. “We’re here now.”

“And you’re never going to leave,” Michael sneers.

“Yeah, okay,” Dean says. “Enough.” He leaps forward, knife slashing through the air. Michael throws his hands up to block his face, and the knife just catches on his sleeve but doesn’t cut through it. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Sam circling Raphael, matching looks of concentration on their faces.

Michael strikes, and while there’s decent weight behind his punch, he’s sloppy, obviously unaccustomed to actual fighting. Dean dodges it with ease, a smirk playing around his lips. Michael growls in frustration as all of his other blows are dodged just as easily. Dean ducks and weaves, trying to keep Michael facing the door the door so he doesn’t notice Hannah helping Castiel to his feet behind them.

He could just shoot him. They brought their silver bullets, but they also promised Cas they wouldn’t kill his brothers unless it was absolutely necessary. That was before they kidnapped him, though. Dean wonders how Cas would feel about it now, but decides it still isn’t his call to make. He just has to keep the exit clear and make sure Cas and Hannah get out.

They’re going to come into Michael’s line of sight any second now. Dean lunges forward and grabs him around the shoulders, pinning him back against the wall. Michael gasps as the air is driven out of his lungs and then his eyes widen further as he sees Castiel and Hannah cross the room.

“Hannah!” he shouts. “You liar!”

To her credit, Hannah ignores him completely, all her attention focused on Castiel. Sam and Raphael are still fighting off to the other side, and judging by the way Raphael is clutching his left forearm, Sam’s landed a hit.

It’s about time Dean does the same. He ignores the pain in his stomach as Michael hammers at his torso, trying to break free, and slashes at Michael’s shoulder. His head slams back against the wall as he hisses, sending Dean a hate-filled glare.

“You’ll regret that,” he spits.

Dean doesn’t answer, just presses the knife to Michael’s throat. He has no intention of actually killing him, but Michael doesn’t need to know that. 

“Dean, no!”

Castiel staggers across the room towards them. Distracted, Dean takes his eyes off Michael for a split second, and in that time, Michael kicks out at Dean’s knee, sending him crashing to the floor, and grabs his knife, careful not to touch the blade.

Dean throws up his forearm to shield him from a blow that never comes. Instead, Michael reaches out and grabs Castiel, holding the knife poised above his heart.

“You know him?” Michael demands. The knife slips slightly in his grasp and Dean swears under his breath as Castiel’s eyes widen, his breath coming in short gasps. “You know these hunters?”

“Disgusting,” Raphael sneers. Sam has him pinned, and it doesn’t look like he’s moving anytime soon, but Dean knows a stalemate when he sees one. 

He and Hannah are the only ones with unrestricted movement, but she isn’t a fighter. At least not in the traditional sense. So Dean’s a bit surprised when she steps towards Michael and Castiel, hands held out in a beseeching gesture.

“Stop this,” she pleads. “Stop all of this. This is not what we wanted.”

“Maybe not,” Michael replies, “but we have to work with what we have. If Castiel does not wish to return to us, well, then, what use is he?”

“Screw you,” Dean says, his blood boiling in his ears. “Listen to yourself. He’s your brother. He’s a person. It shouldn’t be about usefulness.”

“And what if one of your fellow hunters stopped pulling their weight, hmn? Would you smile and accept it? No. You would convince them to stay. To be _loyal_.”

“No.” Dean shakes his head. “I wouldn’t.” He looks over at Sam as he says it, thinking of all the times they threw around the word loyalty, talking about the family business, about their responsibility. He still believes in those things, but not to the point of making Sam unhappy. They’ve made their peace in that regard.

“How nice for you,” Michael says. “Unfortunately for Castiel, I don’t feel the same way.”

“I think the only unfortunate one is you,” Hannah says tightly. Dean never even saw her move, but suddenly she’s standing right beside her brothers. Something large and made of glass glints under the lights, and then she’s slamming it down on Michael’s head with surprising force. He crumples like a puppet whose strings have been cut, but as he falls, the knife arcs through the air, catching Castiel across the chest and tearing through the fabric of his shirt into the flesh beneath.

“Cas!’ he shouts, darting forward to catch him as he falls to the ground. Dean pulls back his shirt with shaking fingers, and lets out a sigh of relief when he sees that the wound is long but not deep. Castiel is shuddering, deep tremors racking his body, and Dean knows his body’s aversion to silver is making it more painful than it looks. 

“Hey, Cas, look at me,” he says, reaching out to cup Castiel’s face between his hands. “Cas. You’re gonna be okay. I know it hurts, but I promise, you’re gonna be okay.”

“Dean…” Cas’ voice is weak, but he manages a shaky smile. “Dean.”

“Yeah, buddy, I’m right here.” Dean doesn’t care that Hannah, Sam, and Raphael are all watching them right now, probably with varying degrees of interest on their faces. All he cares about is Cas.

“Don’t kill them,” Cas pleads. “You promised.”

“I know.” Every instinct in Dean screams to put a silver bullet through both Michael and Raphael, but he won’t. He won’t do that to Cas.

Hannah slips to the ground beside Cas and opens her bag, grabbing a handful of tissues and pressing them over his wound. He reaches out and takes hold of her wrist, and whatever passes between them brings a smile to her face.

Dean gets to his feet, knowing Cas is in good hands. “Hey, asshole,” he address Raphael. “We’re only going to say this once, so listen up. And make sure to tell your brother when he wakes up. Stay away from Cas.”

“We know how to find you now.” Sam releases Raphael, still keeping his gun trained on him while moving to stand beside Dean. “And next time, we won’t be so forgiving.”

“So you run your little schemes, steal from some other shallow rich people, we don’t really care,” Dean continues. “But if we ever hear that you’re hurting people? Or that you’re coming after Cas again? We will end you.”

Sam still hasn’t lowered his gun. “Do we make ourselves clear?” he asks.

There’s a pause, and then Raphael says, “Clear.”

Dean returns to Castiel’s side, helping to pull him to his feet. He sways slightly, his face pale, but his breathing is easier. Dean loops an arm around his shoulders and leads him from the room. Hannah follows, and Sam brings up the rear, keeping watch on Raphael and Michael. The apartment door closes behind them, and Dean lets out an incredulous laugh.

“Can’t believe that actually worked,” he murmurs.

“I can,” Castiel replies. The color is slowly returning to his cheeks, and he looks almost like himself again when he glances up at Dean and gives him a wry smile. “I knew you’d come looking for me.”

“Of course we did,” Dean says, aiming for gruffness but missing the mark by a mile, judging by the smug grin on Sam’s face.

“Let’s get out of here and get you stitched up,” Sam says.

“Please,” Hannah says fervently, hitting the button for the elevator. The doors slide open smoothly, and they all stumble inside.

They don’t look back.


	6. Chapter 6

Dean drums his fingers on the Impala’s steering wheel, occasionally glancing towards the backseat as he drives. Cas and Hannah are both quiet, their faces pensive and drawn, but if Dean times it right, Cas will look up and meet his eyes and offer him a small smile. Sam has his head tipped back, his eyes closed, taking advantage of the contemplative quiet in the car to sneak in a little nap.

They’re headed back to Buffalo, all of them thrilled to be leaving the lights and the drama of New York City behind them. After they left the lobby of the building where Cas was being held, he’d turned to Dean and simply said, “Take me home, please.” Dean wasn’t about to deny him, so they made their way back to the car and got out of the city as fast as they could. 

He’s not entirely sure where Cas and Hannah stand at the moment. They’re barely speaking to each other, but they aren’t arguing either, so he’s fairly certain they’re eventually going to be okay. She betrayed him, it’s true, but she also saved them all, in the end. Dean isn’t exactly the forgiving type, but he’s trying to be, so he can’t fault for Cas for doing the same.

They’ve just passed a sign that announces they’re twelve miles from Buffalo when Cas finally speaks up. “Thank you,” he says, voice even raspier than usual. 

The sound startles Sam awake, and he looks at Dean for a moment before turning his body to face Castiel. “You don’t need to thank us.”

“I think I do,” Cas replies. 

“As do I,” Hannah adds. “For many things.”

“You’re the one who saved all your asses back there,” Dean points out. 

“Still.” Hannah makes a rueful grimace. “You aren’t exactly what I expected hunters to be like. I’m glad that Castiel has found friends like you.”

A warm feeling blossoms in Dean’s chest, and he coughs awkwardly to cover it up. He can feel Castiel’s eyes on him, and he wishes they were alone in the car, selfish as it sounds. There are a number of things passing unsaid between them, and he’d like the chance to explore them further.

He’s starting to think they might have time for that later, though, and that’s not the kind of outlook he usually has at the end of a hunt. It’s always case closed, on to the next one, but Dean knows the cases have been drying up lately, meaning he’ll have a fair bit of free time on his hands. He’s kind of looking forward to it.

So when they pull up in front of Cas’ house and exit the car, he jams his hands into the pockets of his coat and nods to Hannah as she grabs her small bag, the only thing she brought with her from New York. “Take care,” he tells her. 

“I will.” She gives him and Sam another smile, a bit timid but genuine. “Perhaps we’ll see one another again.”

“Yeah,” Sam says, “maybe.”

He gives Cas a rough pat on the back, pulling him in for a one-armed hug. “Glad you’re okay, Cas,” Sam says, and the easy affection between them only adds to the warm feeling in Dean’s chest. 

But he doesn’t know how to proceed, now that it’s clearly his turn to say his goodbyes. Tactfully, Sam takes Hannah aside and points out the tunnel on the other side of the street, launching into the story of how they first met her brother, leaving Dean and Cas staring at each other, wordless. 

“You could stay,” Cas says eventually.

And that’s exactly what Dean has been thinking. He could stay. He doesn’t have his usual excuses, his usual responsibilities, all the things that have kept him from pursuing something like this for so many years. He doesn’t have anything to hide behind. 

But as much as he wants to say yes, he knows the time still isn’t quite right.

“I can’t,” he says softly, and immediately winces at the way Cas’ face falls. “Cas--”

“I understand,” Cas says stiffly. “It was foolish of me, to think we ever had a chance. A shifter and a hunter. How ridiculous.”

“Hey.” Dean takes a step closer, and reaches out a hand to rest gently on Cas’ shoulder. “That’s not what I mean.”

“Then what do you mean?” Cas asks, and he sounds so tired. His eyes are dull, like he’s bracing for another blow, and Dean hates it.

“You’ve got a lot of shit to figure out, Cas,” he says, “and that’s putting it mildly. What you just went through…” He shakes his head admiringly. “I’m not saying we can’t keep in touch. I want to keep in touch. I want--” He can’t bring himself to say the rest, but he thinks Cas will understand anyway.

Slowly, Cas nods. “You’re probably right,” he admits. His eyes stray over to where Sam and Hannah are standing, still chatting animatedly. “I think my sister and I need to have a long conversation. Several, in fact.”

“Yeah,” Dean agrees. “But if you need someone to talk to after those conversations, you know how to reach me, okay?”

“Okay,” Cas says, and finally he’s smiling again. “Okay, Dean.”

“Take care of yourself, Cas,” Dean says, and before he can overthink it, he leans forward and presses a soft kiss to Cas’ cheek. 

Cas flushes, his eyes soft. “You too.”

“Hey, Sam,” Dean calls over to him, “time to go.”

Cas lifts his hand in a wave as Sam and Dean slide back into the car and pull out of the driveway. “Think they’re going to be alright?” Sam asks, watching as Hannah comes to stand beside him.

“Yeah,” Dean says, smiling. “I do.”

***

Dean and Cas fall back into the habit of texting, like they did before, but it’s different now. They both know it, and maybe they don’t talk about it, but it’s there. It’s there in the way Dean gets a fluttering feeling in his chest every time he sees a new message from Cas, in the way he walks away in the middle of a game of pool when Cas texts to say he’s having trouble falling asleep, kept awake by memories of being kidnapped by his own brothers. It’s there in the way Cas tells him Hannah has left, gone off to find her own way in life, and how complicated his feelings about her still are, even after a month.

It’s there in the way Sam grins at him when Dean turns down a hunt, leaving it for someone else to handle. For the first time in a long time, Dean’s got something other than the job and his brother to live to for. 

And that’s a good thing, because about six weeks after they get back from New York, Sam gets his first acceptance letter. The only one that matters, really, because it’s from the University of Michigan, his top choice. When Sam opens the letter, the grin that spreads across his face is the purest expression of happiness Dean has ever seen from him. Ash didn’t even have to help him hack the admissions systems-- Sam got in all on his own.

God, Dean’s so damn proud of him. Sam’s had a rough life, and he’s still moving forward, chasing his own goals and dreaming of a better future. It makes Dean want to be brave. 

So when Ash starts pumping the Michigan Fight Song and trying to convince Sam to stand on top of the bar and lead them in a chorus, Dean makes his escape upstairs and sends a message to Cas. 

_Sam got into his dream school._

Cas replies almost instantaneously. _That’s wonderful. Please congratulate him for me._

And then, _How are you handling it?_

Dean smiles to himself. _I’m good_ , he writes back. _A bit surprised to say it, but I am. I’m just so damn proud of him, you know?_

He knows why Cas asked. He knows big changes like this can be scary, can throw someone off, and he knows he doesn’t always handle change well. And Cas being aware enough to check in on him speaks volumes. 

But Dean didn’t text Cas because he needed emotional support, or a sympathetic ear. He just wanted to share his happiness with him, and that realization hits him with the force of an oncoming train. He wants to share all his happiness with Cas, present and future.

And if he slips, if he starts to worry about the distance between he and Sam, how it might affect their relationship, he knows with absolute certainty that Cas will be there for him, lending a supportive and sympathetic ear. Just like he wants to be there for Cas.

He just hopes some day it won’t all be via text message.

***

Dean is in the middle of carrying a tray of dirty glasses back to the kitchen, a towel slung over one shoulder, when he hears someone clear their throat behind them. It’s a more polite way of getting his attention than some of the other methods the rough Roadhouse crowd uses, so he puts down his tray and turns around.

Cas is standing there, a hesitant smile on his face. “Hello, Dean.”

“Cas,” he breathes. “What are you doing here?”

“Should I not have come?” Cas asks, his face falling. “I just...wanted to surprise you.”

“No, man, I’m happy to see you, really.” Dean reaches out and clasps Cas by the shoulder, hardly believing he’s here, solid and warm and real under his touch. “Just...not out here, okay?”

He steers Cas back into the small office behind the bar and shuts the door behind them. Cas raises an eyebrow at him, and Dean flushes. “Not like that,” he mutters. “I just-- it’s a risk, coming here. You know that, right?”

He can’t bear the thought of Cas getting hurt again. Especially not on his behalf. 

“I know,” Cas says calmly. “But I wanted to see you. Most establishments only review their security footage if something goes wrong. It was a risk, yes, but a calculated one. Unless someone catches my eyes on the cameras, no one has to know what I am.”

“Yeah, except this _establishment_ is run by hunters whose default setting is suspicious and we have a tech whiz who lives in the the back room,” Dean counters. “Fuck. Okay. We can handle this.”

“I can leave,” Cas says slowly. “I don’t want to cause any trouble for you.”

“No.” Dean shakes his head firmly. “No way. You’re worth any trouble you might cause.”

Cas’ smile returns, and Dean matches it with one of his own. “God, it’s good to see you,” he says with a laugh. “Now come on, there are some people you should meet.”

He finds Ellen just coming down the stairs, and though she gives Cas the same hard stare she always gives newcomers, she doesn’t seem to notice anything else amiss. “We need to talk,” Dean tells her.

“Alright,” she says, glancing between him and Cas. “Him too?”

“Yeah,” Dean replies, “and Sam, and Ash.”

“I’ll get Sam and meet you back,” Ellen says. 

Dean gives Cas’ shoulder a reassuring squeeze as he leads him towards Ash’s office. “Don’t worry,” he says, trying to sound confident. “It’ll be fine.”

“If you say so,” Cas murmurs.

Dean has just raised his hand to knock when the door flies open. “Dude, there’s a shifter in the bar!” Ash hisses at him, his eyes widening as he catches sight of Castiel hovering behind Dean. “Dean, get back!”

“A shifter?”

Dean turns around at Ellen’s voice. She’s come up behind them, reaching for a weapon, but Sam is there beside her, gently lowering her hand. “Calm down, everyone,” Sam says. “Let’s all go inside and talk.”

Ellen huffs, but allows Sam to lead her into Ash’s room. Cas sticks close to Dean, and it’s so tempting to reach out and take his hand, but Dean restrains himself. 

As soon as the door closes behind them, Ellen crosses her arms over her chest and aims her most intense glare at Dean. “Explain.”

Dean sighs, but before he can begin, Cas steps forward. “My name is Castiel,” he says, “and I am indeed a shapeshifter.”

“Cas, don’t--” Dean starts, but Cas shakes his head and continues. 

“Sam and Dean crossed paths with me a few months ago in Buffalo. We’ve become friends, since then. I came here tonight to visit a friend, nothing more. I understand if that will be a problem for you, but I hope you’ll reconsider. I mean no harm to anyone here.”

Both Ellen and Ash look slightly taken aback, but Ellen recovers first. “Buffalo,” she says thoughtfully. “That vampire case?”

“Yeah,” Dean says. “Look, Cas is a good guy, okay? I know it’s a lot, but I’m asking you to trust me here.”

“To trust us,” Sam adds. “Cas is our friend, and we’ll vouch for him.”

“And yet it’s not you he went to talk to first,” Ellen says shrewdly. She gives Dean a pointed look. “Something you’re not telling us, Dean?”

Might as well go for broke, Dean figures. “Maybe,” he says, holding his head high and looking over at Cas. Cas gives a tiny nod, and stretches out his hand towards Dean, who takes it firmly in his own. 

Ash grins at them. “Sweet,” he says. But Ellen purses her lips, her face flat, and says, “What would your daddy say?”

Dean flinches slightly. “Dad knew I wasn’t only into girls,” he says, voice tight. “As long as I didn’t get attached, he didn’t care.”

“I’m not talking about that,” Ellen says, waving a dismissive hand. “I’m talking about the fact that he ain’t _human_.”

Dean tightens his grip on Castiel’s hand. “I don’t give a shit what Dad would have said,” he declares, and god, it feels so good to finally voice a disagreement with his father, even years after his death. “I loved him, but he was wrong about a hell of a lot of things, especially when it came to hunting and who and what we call monsters. Cas might not be human, not entirely, but I don’t care. He’s a good person, and that’s all that matters.”

Sam’s grinning at him from across the room, looking ready to burst into applause at any moment, and after a long pause, a wide smile breaks across Ellen’s face. “It’s about time,” she mutters, moving towards them with purpose.

Cas flinches back slightly when she comes to stand in front of him, but she just offers him her hand to shake. “Ellen Harvelle,” she says, “and you are always welcome in my bar, you hear me?”

“Yes,” Cas says, shaking her hand firmly. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. I’ve heard you make excellent burgers.”

“How about we let you decide that for yourself?” Ellen says as she steers Cas back out of Ash’s room and towards the bar. “You grab a seat, I’ll bring that out for you in just a few minutes.”

Dean watches them go, an immense feeling of relief settling over him. “Hey,” Ash says, “I’ll see what I can do about the eye flash thing. We’ll get some sort of stealth mode operational, I promise.”

“Thanks, Ash,” Dean says, his throat tight. “That, uh, really means a lot to me.”

“We’ve got your back,” Ash says, and it’s the most serious Dean has ever heard him sound. Of course, he immediately ruins the effect by belching, then breaking into laughter at himself.

They leave him to it, and as they round the corner they see Cas, sitting at the bar with a beer in front of him, chatting to Tracy. “I’m happy for you,” Sam says softly. “For both of you.”

“Shut up,” Dean mumbles, and goes to join Cas at the bar.

Hours later, they’re both a little buzzed, whatever small amount of space there was between them now gone, their bar stools pressed together as closely as possible. “Get out of here,” Ellen tells them as she passes on her way back to the office. “See you boys in the morning.”

They haven’t talked about, if Cas is staying, if he got a motel room. He’s looking at Dean, his eyes wide and a hint of a flush in his cheeks, and all Dean knows is that he isn’t ready to let him go quite yet.

“Stay?” he asks, and Cas nods.

They climb the stairs in silence, and Dean flicks on the lights in his little room, leading Cas inside. “It’s not much,” he says, “but it’s the closest thing to home I’ve got.”

“I like it,” Cas declares, looking around with interest. His eyes land on the framed picture of Dean and his mother that sits on the bedside table, and he glances at Dean for permission before reaching out to pick it up with gentle hands. 

His eyes flutter closed, and an expression of concentration passes over his face. He opens them and looks at Dean. “Your mother loved you very much,” he says softly. “I think she would be very proud of the man you’ve become.”

Dean swallows roughly, unaccustomed to feeling this exposed, this vulnerable. But Cas did a brave thing, coming here tonight, so he figures he ought to honour that with his own courage. He takes a step forward, gently removing the picture from Cas’ grasp, and places a hand on each side of Cas’ face. “This okay?” he asks.

Cas nods, gaze fixed on Dean’s. His tongue darts out to moisten his lips, and seconds later, Dean is pressing his lips there, Cas responding in kind.

There’s heat in their kiss, but no urgency. Dean takes his time, deepening it slowly, letting Cas adjust to the feeling, letting their bodies move towards each other with the inevitability of gravity. Cas’ hands slowly creep up to rest on Dean’s waist, warm even through his layers, and Dean sighs into the kiss, content. 

He pulls back after a few minutes, resting his forehead gently against Cas’, letting them both recover their breath. He doesn’t feel the need to push for anything more tonight. “You want something to change into?” he offers.

“Please,” Cas replies, looking down at his blue button-up in amusement. “This isn’t the most comfortable attire for sleeping.”

Dean digs through his drawers and finds an old black t-shirt, soft from wear. When he turns back, Cas is just slipping his shirt over his shoulders, and Dean freezes at the sight of the faint scar across his torso.

Cas catches him looking, his mouth twisting into a wry smile. “Not the most appealing, I know.”

“Hey.” Dean steps towards him. “Don’t say that.” He reaches out slowly, giving Cas plenty of time to move away, but Cas’ breath just catches in his throat as he nods.

Dean lightly traces over the scar, feeling the flex of Cas’ muscles beneath his touch. Cas shivers under his hands, his chest rising and falling with his rapid breathing. Keeping one hand spread across Cas’ stomach, Dean leans in to kiss him again, a brief brush of his lips for reassurance, and then passes him the t-shirt. 

“Come on,” he says. “It’s been a big day.”

Cas pulls the shirt over his head and removes his jeans, then climbs into Dean’s bed. Dean pauses for a moment to marvel at how right he looks there before flicking off the lights and pulling off his own shirt, electing to sleep in just his boxers. He settles in beside Cas, who lies there stiffly at first before gradually creeping closer, eventually placing his head on Dean’s chest and wrapping an arm across his stomach.

“I’m really glad you’re here, Cas,” Dean whispers, pressing a kiss into his hair.

“Me too. And to think, it all started with your brother’s missing shoe.”

Dean laughs quietly. “Maybe that wasn’t such a bad luck after all.”

“It was quite the opposite, for me,” Cas confesses. 

“For all of us,” Dean says.

And it’s true. Since then, they’ve all figured some things out. Sam’s starting down a new path, not so much putting his history behind him as he is carrying it with him on a new journey. Cas has gotten some closure with his family, shutting some of them out completely while moving towards with a better relationship with Hannah, at least. And Dean…

Dean has this: a group of stubborn, grumpy, loving friends and family members, a brother he’s so proud of he thinks his heart might burst, a gorgeous car, two places he can call home, a give ‘em hell attitude, and Cas, here with him, a surprise in the best sense of the word.


End file.
